Fugitives
by devilishlysas
Summary: Sylar/Claire - A fic I wrote before the actual Fugitives season so now its AU. 'Sometimes escape is just the beginning.' Disclaimer: I don't own heroes or any of the characters. Warning: Disturbing imagary; later chapters will be NC-17. Spoilers S01-03.
1. Captives

**Title: FUGITIVES - by Devilishlysas83**

**Disclaimer/Claimer: **I don't own Heroes, Sylar, Claire or any of the other characters. I just borrow them to feed my muse from time to time.  
**Rating: **PG-13 to NC-17, for some sexuality and dark themes  
**Fandom: **Heroes  
**Pairing: **Sylar/Claire  
**Spoilers: **AU to Fugitives Season, written in the hiatus after Villains ended. General spoilers for Season 3  
**Word count: **~40,000  
**Author's Note:** Originally written as two fics, the start was Captives, the follow up Fugitives, all posted together in separate chapters.

**Chapter 1: Captives // Be still my beating heart**

Claire stared fixedly at the wall of her cell, she shifted and the tubes pulled against her. It should have hurt, she knew that, even saw the drops of precious blood that it caused to spill, before her body healed, and the tubes and needles adjusted to her new position. How on earth they expected her to sleep like this she had no idea, perhaps it had never occurred to them, that whilst she couldn't feel anything, a dozen needles and tubes stuck all over someone strapped to a metal table was uncomfortable, no matter the 'someone'. At least from an emotional point of view, if nothing else, she was after all helpless, isolated, confined and observed from every inch by the cameras that never left. But the worst of it, was that her own father had done this to her, Nathan, a glorified sperm donor and nothing else to her now, he had hurt her more than any needle ever could. Oh of course he'd tried to make her comfortable, during the day she was permitted certain privileges that weren't given the other inmates, she was allowed to walk, chained of course around the compound, read books, watch TV... like any of that mattered! A gilded cage was still a cage, and at night even that illusion faded, when she was strapped down without fail and hooked up to the many needles and tubes that were the source of her 'special' privileges. Her blood, was stolen, night after endless night, pumped away into their eager hands, she was so 'special', God she hated that word, and even more so the fact that everyone always wanted to apply it to her. It didn't matter what she wanted though that was abundantly clear, they thought she was special, that her blood was special, and it was, it had the power to heal mortal wounds and even bring people back from the dead, at least once, so far even they're best scientists hadn't found a way to repeat the miracle of life twice with the same patient. They had hoped to find the answer comparing her blood to Peter's... that name it was the first time she had realised that he had to be here somewhere too, as they discussed him over her, like she was invisible. But for whatever reasons Peter could do would others could, it didn't extend to his blood, he could only heal himself, not others, and that made him useless to them... just a danger nothing more.

Of course she'd asked after Peter from then on, wanted to see him, however briefly, and they'd promised she could, when he had learnt to respect this institution. The way they'd said it left her under no illusions as to how they intended to teach him that respect, even if she saw him, Peter wouldn't be in a gilded cage. Then one day they stopped answering her request to see him. They never lied, it was something she'd realised, trusted, apparently it set a bad precedent truth was always so much worse... so they simply stopped answering her pleas. Leaving her with two options, either Peter had died, or he'd escaped. Claire wasn't sure which she preferred now, in death at least Peter would be free of them, but if he'd escaped and left her here... she never let that thought complete, not even at night staring blankly at the walls as her blood dripped away.

Once she'd hoped there would be a limit to her body's ability to provide them their miracle cure, that her body would run dry. There had been, they simply added a saline nutrient drip to her arm during these sessions, containing sugars, proteins and essential acids, everything her body needed to keep chugging out the good stuff. But she had learnt something else in this time, something she hoped to use to escape... she didn't need to sleep. Apparently she had merely been doing it out of habit all this time, but so far, she was up to at least 17 nights now and nothing, no sleep, with no apparent effects. So every night, when they hooked her up, always with a smile for their favourite little miracle, happy in the knowledge that they couldn't hurt her, and that she was saving lives, they waited for her to sleep. Maybe they expected her to be weakened by the blood loss, or just tired following normal sleep patterns, accepting that she would be regardless, and so unconscious unable to plan during the one time their guard was low.

So dutifully every night she'd close her eyes, and pretend. And every night she tested the limits of her restraints, and the attentiveness of the night watchmen behind the camera. Judging for herself the passage of time by keeping count from the moment the huge metal door thudded shut and sealed in place. By doing this she was able to work out a rough idea of when the guards fell asleep at their posts by when they stopped coming to get her to settle down, and they rotated, 3 guards took her shift each week, and she was certain she had all their schedules memorized. Now she knew when to make her escape... it was the how that she was stuck on. The needles whirred, reminding her of the problems, as they retracted; spun and fresh needles were inserted into her flesh, the temperatures and contact sensors beeping until they were reattached. This was their ingenious solution to dealing with her body's unique ability to not only push out foreign objects, but to degrade them if they were an obstruction for too long, even titanium tips like the ones they were using. It was a blessing in one way she supposed, that she couldn't feel anything, as they rotated and reinserted like clockwork six times a night. In another it was torture; she should be able to feel the terrible things they did to her body, just like everyone else locked up here had to. Otherwise it just gave them license to absolve themselves of everything they did, after all if they weren't hurting her how could it be wrong? She knew that was what her so called father told himself so he could sleep nights, along with his little patriotic speech about making the world safe, helping people. All his noble goals and ideals fell on deaf ears... you couldn't save people, when it came from the suffering of others. The idea that she shared genes with the man, a monster whether he believed it or not, sickened her.

Her other problem was the door itself, a metal bolted monstrosity, circular in design and pressure locked. It required too large uniformed men to push it open and pull it closed; there were no electrical systems in it to help. Not here when electrics could be overruled or burnt out by the 'freaks'. No expense had been spared on her little chamber of death. It was hopeless, she was indestructible, and so was the door. How could she escape this?

Claire screamed, long, loud and filled with her despair and frustration. Her unending scream sent people running and scuttling into her cell, lab techs, guards, all of them. They fussed and checked their instruments, finding nothing wrong with them, or her, of course. But she couldn't stop, not once she'd started, the screams turned into desperate grating shrieks... so they called the shrinks and her father, which just made her scream louder. Then it happened, their little miracle cure, had her own miracle, something so wonderful she saw it in their horrified faces first, and then in the bleeping of the monitors... panic.

Her body, her wonderful fucked up body and finally responded to her pain! The shrieks and screams turned into manic laughter, huge whooping, rasping laughs that had them all backing away to await the shrink. But she had eyes for only one thing... the empty blood bags.

They wasted no time, the needles went to work on her, rotating, trying to find new spots, deeper, but there was nothing, nada, when they were done there wasn't a centimetre of skin they hadn't tried. 'Hyper cellular organisation' they called it, her body had learnt to consider the needles a threat, and had responded defensively. But they were still unclear if her body had learnt it itself, or if she had somehow made it happen. Her screaming fit wasn't exactly leading them to give her the benefit of the doubt. The blood-flow was stopping whenever a needle pierced the vessels, refusing to flow past or into the obstruction, preferring to cut off the vessel from the rest of her circulatory system. Letting it die to repair it later for the greater good of the whole. They let her watch it on the screen, her blood suffused with dyes and markers so they could track it, as she watched the needles enter, and the vessel collapse. It didn't matter how many vessels they tried it on, the result was the same, her body could heal her through almost anything; it simply waited until the needle was removed, rather than loose blood volume. She'd laughed, right to their faces, in fact it was all she'd been able to do since it had happened, which of course furthered their believe that it was a mental effect, something she was actively doing, or more likely had triggered, since it persisted when she was unconscious.

Nathan had tried a parental approach after the shrinks failed to stop her hysteria. Telling her how disappointed he was in her, perhaps expecting his pleas to think of all the wounded soldiers and company men that she was letting die, to spark some sort of sympathy. It might have worked if they'd simply asked her for help from the start, for her to donate the blood to save lives. But they hadn't no one had ever offered her the choice; they'd stolen her freedom, her blood, her life, from her perspective they could all go to hell!

It didn't take them long to find a way around it. Oh it wasn't a perfect solution, as Nathan and the doctors reminded her scornfully each day, for either of them. They got barely a fraction of the blood they once did, but they did get it. A tube directly into her heart ensured that, but it meant that movement was no longer a luxury afforded her; she was strapped completely immobile day and night by metal clasps, she couldn't even turn her head. The sharpened tube would go in, and her body would react, the vessels in and around her heart would collapse, and her heart would stop beating. The monitors would erupt in the sound of alarms, and there was always that moment of panic from the techs as their pale faces tightened with anxiety as their cash cow flat-lined, but their little blood bank was only good if it was making blood. She'd black out, her brain starved of oxygen... then she'd wake up to the sound of her own heart beating, sluggishly, reluctantly. From what they told her, her heart would stop for precisely 11 minutes, like clockwork every time, she would lose consciousness after 2 minutes, and wake up on the 12th minute. Apparently whatever her bodies new grievance to needles it wouldn't let her die to spite them, and so it suffered the intrusion, at least partially. Blood volume remained reduced and her heart beat a mere 12 beats a minute. Just enough to keep her body alive and her brain semi-conscious. Enough for them to siphon off a small amount each night, enough to save or heal one person she was informed bitterly by her father, nothing in comparison to the 8+ they used to manage off her a night. She couldn't help but see it as a small victory, sick as that still sounded to her. But the idea that she had taken back control, even such a small amount, it was still hers.

They punished her the only way they knew how to punish someone that couldn't be hurt physically. Dragging her from the 'slaughter house' as she'd nicknamed it, into a vast hall, full of people, inmates like her, freaks, monsters, heroes, villains all of them, all the same here. Some faces she recognised the majority she didn't. They'd forced her to her knees, carefully, handling her like china, the indestructible girl that they wouldn't harm... The commander of this facility, at least that was who he had introduced himself as, Deacon, his voice rang out loud and clear in the still air, telling them all why they were here. That she, Claire, had disobeyed, cost lives, had used her powers against them... a clear violation of the rules. That every pain she deserved, every punishment she required would be inflicted on them, that she would watch as others suffered in her place. Their screams when they began should have been hers, but never could be. Maybe they expected her to beg, to plead for them, but her heart grew cold and fury swelled with each tormented cry they drew from those like her. Little Molly's worst of all, she'd met the girl briefly at the plaza that night a life time ago when she had lost Peter the first time. Molly was useful to them, their tracker, and yet she was punished, no one was above reproach... except the little cheerleader from Texas they couldn't hurt, couldn't stop, couldn't kill. She laughed, that bubbling dark hysteria over took her again; just like that day her blood had stopped flowing. The guards holding her on her knees released her dropping her with disgust. Then she spoke, she never spoke, not since the first night they'd strapped her to that table for the night. Perhaps that was why they listened.

"You can't hurt me... no one can. You can't punish me, can't kill me, you can't even make me bleed, not anymore. But for some reason you think you can break my heart instead?" she looked directly at the commander, and then to his superior behind the camera. "My heart stopped beating a while ago, you should know, you stopped it. Isn't that what all those monitors and doctors told you when you stuck your goddamn needles and tubes in me!" she laughed again, but it was cold and dark, there was no amusement left in any ounce of her body, as she rose smoothly, fluidly even after all this time, to her feet. Claire ignored the pleading looks of her fellow captives as they begged with their eyes for her to stop, to not make it worse, to provoke their fury.

"I die every night just to stop you, and every time my heart splutters back to life, you get less of your miracle. I stopped the blood, me, I stopped it, I stopped you. And one day I'll find a way to stop it forever. Because your right, I don't care, not about you Father," she spat the word out snidely to the camera, "not about your little patriots or your company men, or the rest of the freaks in here. I'm dead; my body just won't accept it yet!"

Those fellow freaks had surprised her in that moment, bloodied, restrained, and broken, they had cheered. Not all, never all, but enough of them, enough to rouse the other into something, some sort of fight, of spirit. Something they had almost lost, forgotten, their hatred almost lost to despair. She'd been dragged away, laughing still, as the noise grew deafening, screams and shouts and hands and feet thumping through restraints to be heard.

After that there were no privileges at all, Nathan's daughter, miracle cure or not, she was hostile, violent, and an agitator. The tube never left her heart, except to be replaced by another fresh one when it was almost worn through. Half conscious the world passed her by and escape became a distant memory, a dream half remembered, like the concept of sleep itself. They would have kept her sedated, but that would have tainted their blood. So she lay there, immobile, undying, and unable to live, unfeeling and completely unable to remember what it should feel like.

Time passed.

Alarms rang through her hazed state of awake, but she wasn't concerned, they were just her heart monitor as the tube was replaced, just normal sounds. Only the sounds didn't fade, and her eyes shot open, adrenalin giving life to long dead blood, as other noises joined the alarm, which had not cut off. The ground trembled, rocked by a deafening explosion beyond her metal and concrete cage. There were shouts, and gunfire, screams and rattling, then the metal around her door bowed, buckling outwards... was this escape? Had someone come to rescue her, or kill her... she was after all the reason the company, the 'division' and it's people wouldn't stay dead, why their wounds barely slowed them. The metal groaned again, invisible hands seeming to be tearing at it from behind. Then tendrils of ice lanced along the concrete wall encasing the doorway, before the metal itself began to glow red hot. Too hot, she would have given anything to feel the heat that singed her hair, as the concrete began to shatter against the pounding from beyond.

A voice in her mind caused her to flinch, "We're coming, we won't leave you here." Shouts from outside followed, and frustrated cries, the voice in her mind seemed to falter. They couldn't free her, the cell is too thick, too well designed against their abilities, this was a prison built to contain them and her cell was fort knox... where the Divisions gold was kept.

"Go." She whispered. More pounding. "Leave me!" she screams at them finally finding her voice again. "Bring it all down, blow it all to hell!"

"You'll be buried alive." The voice in her head reminds her, horrified at the suggestion, she remembers him, the policeman that had once shot her to save her mother... Parkman.

"Just get out of here." She pleads with the silent voice in her mind. "Bury me deep, don't let them reach me, use me again!"

The voice in her minds anguish was clear, his feelings translated to her through his ability, as the pounding ceased and the red hot glow faded as the ice melted. Claire stifled a sob, strapped to her metal world.

"I am so sorry, we're so sorry Claire."

Then they were gone, he was gone. She was alone, only the building didn't tremble and collapse around her, did that mean they'd failed? Or had they escaped only to fail to find away to see it destroyed? Either way she was still here, still theirs... his, able to be used against people just like her. It was worse than death. Perhaps that was all it took, perhaps her heart had finally heard her, because her wretched, obstinate body faltered. The alarm beeped, a warning, tentative, prepared. It was such a sweet sound... the failing of her heart. The alarm rang now from her monitor increasing its insistence as her heart lost its own. She would free herself, from the only prison that had ever threatened to hold her forever... life.

The heart monitor flickered, electrical disturbance, but it continued its droll sound, counting the end of her heartbeat. Her eyes remained open, waiting watching not wanting to miss a moment of her own death, enough to watch the metal door melt into nothing but a pool of molten liquid before her very hazy eyes. The tube was torn free of her chest, like the monstrous thing it was and flung across the room as far from her as was possible, the sensors followed. Then the metal bindings snapped open as the monitor was hurled into the nearby wall, smashing and falling silent finally. But her eyes were heavy, her limbs weak, the monitor hadn't lied her heart had given in.

"NO!" the roar was almost enough in itself to startle her back to consciousness. "Don't you dare give in, not now!" The voice boomed at her, so close, it was compelling, she wanted to obey, but the blackness was creeping now into her mind. She could almost feel the blood, her precious blood thickening and running cold... stopping. Hands grasped her face, large and solid, dark eyes latched onto her heavy ones, trying to hold her with their gaze, so intense full of power and rage. The memory of Peter rose in her mind, had he come back for her? Too late.

"No it's not too late Claire. You stop this death is not the answer!" the voice and the dark eyes raged against her apathy. "You did this, you made this happen, all of them they escaped because of you, you gave them hope... don't you lose it!" Poor sad Peter, hope hadn't saved her or them; hope hadn't made her rage against them that day, it had been despair. But blood her blood had begun to pulse again, it wasn't Peter's voice, she knew that now.

Curiosity was what bought her back in the end; she'd wanted to see the face of her rescuer. There was nothing between the moment she'd decided not to die, and the moment her body lurched alive again, fully healed. Her eyes flew open, unclouded as blood rushed to starved organs and limbs. Claire met the face of her saviour, the dark eyes, liquid black in brows just as dark. A man she should have known would be able to shred her cell like tissue paper. A man, more monster to her than anything else, or at least he had been.

"Sylar." It was not a question and her voice didn't waver or reveal the terror she'd once put into that one word, but could no longer feel.

He didn't answer, or wait for further questions, his hands slid beneath her almost naked body, only the hospital gown protecting her modesty from him as he fled the destroyed cell. She would have protested the need to carry her at all, after all there was nothing wrong with her now, except his reason became apparent as the world flew past them at a dizzying pace. Objects people, even the building, nothing but a blur as wind whipped against her. Then the air changed, they were outside, she snatched enough images of the surroundings to recognise the courtyard she had once been permitted to walk in chains. Sylar didn't slow or stop until they were far clear of the buildings, and the forest beyond, then he slowed and she was able to make out shapes, figures of people, a large group. He skidded to a halt in front of them, still not releasing her.

"You left her!" his voice was like a knife; fury welled in it and cut them all.

"Sylar?" Confusion, hesitation in their voices, "We had no choice." Parkman stepped up and she noticed his shrunken form, nothing like her memory, thin and filthy, with a wild look to once kind eyes. "We tried... she knows that. That cell was fort knox!" her thoughts exactly.

"Claire?" another voice called out from the darkness, hidden by the trees, she knew the voice but the memory failed her. "Is she alright?" another voice. "We have to move, they'll be coming." And another, so many of them had escaped tonight.

"I came here for Claire; the rest of you can rot for all I care." Sylar spat at them all, then they were gone again, speeding through the night, cities and lights flying by one after the other. Claire had no voice to speak to him, Sylar the monster of her darkest nightmares... her hero.


	2. Spent a Little Time South of the Border

**Title: FUGITIVES - by Devilishlysas83**

**Disclaimer/Claimer: **I don't own Heroes, Sylar, Claire or any of the other characters. I just borrow them to feed my muse from time to time.  
**Rating: **PG-13 to NC-17, for some sexuality and dark themes  
**Fandom: **Heroes  
**Pairing: **Sylar/Claire  
**Spoilers: **AU to Fugitives Season, written in the hiatus after Villains ended. General spoilers for Season 3  
**Word count: **~40,000  
**Author's Note:** Originally written as two fics, the start was Captives, the follow up Fugitives, all posted together in separate chapters.

**Chapter 2: Spent a Little Time South of the Border**

When he finally stopped the night was dying in the sky, the air was dry and hot, and it smelled of dirt.

"Mexico." He answered her unspoken question. "The Mexican government has taken a different approach to the 'gifted'. Employment instead of imprisonment..." he paused and caught her look, "I fail to see the difference too." He agreed. He put her down then, gently, far more gently than he had ever treated her in their previous lives, but he refused to look at her, his eyes instead scanning the darkness of the desert around them instead.

"Why?" There was no need to clarify, not with him, he had always understood things about her that she never wanted anyone too, least of all him. And now with apparent telepathy there really was no need. He turned back to her, staring at her shrewdly.

"Because you're special Claire. Not the first time I've told you that, and I hate having to repeat myself. Even those blue collar government morons could see that about you. You deserved better than that cell."

Claire had no will to argue as he turned to walk away, and so she followed; freedom was a concept that still hadn't registered with her fully. That and she had nowhere else to go.

The house, more of a shack than anything else appeared over a small rise, it was tiny and dusty, wind and sun baked, but it was safe, that much she could tell. There were no concrete walls, no metal doors and no tubes or needles to keep her. He opened the door and waited silently, patiently for her to enter. Sylar, the monster, the serial killer, was waiting patiently for her as she hovered with uncertainty beyond his front door. Once inside the room he'd carefully closed the door before lighting the oil lamps with a flick of fire from his fingers, illuminating the meagre surroundings of his home. She studied each corner, drinking in the difference in surroundings from the world of the Division that had been her life for the past 3 years, noticing the small closet, where a few spare clothes hung, almost bare cupboards in the kitchen and the thread bare sheets on the bed.

"Why am I here?"

He watched her sharply, those dark eyes seeming to see into her soul once more, as he slid into a large rocking chair in the corner of the room closest to the fire that roared to life at his command. "Because I'm the only one that can keep you safe."

"Safe." Claire nodded, not trusting the wording with him.

He sighed and offered her a seat, she refused, she'd spent the better part of her time strapped down, she preferred to stand.

"Yes safe. Safe for you..." he picked up a poker and stoked the flames in his fireplace, making the fire roar to life higher than before, "and safe for the rest of us."

Claire nodded, not needing him to elaborate. "I tried to stop them; I managed to reduce the amount they could take to revive their little army." She snapped, feeling defensive and weary all at once. "But I can't die, and they were motivated."

"Yes; I'm aware." He replied calmly, but there was an edge to his voice that made her wonder if perhaps Sylar had been an inmate there to.

"And it didn't go unnoticed, how do you think we were able to break into the facility? Their numbers took a beating these last few months, we realised that their supply of Texan cheerleader must be dwindling. Parkman was instrumental, his ability is inhibited mostly by the drugs, but he could manage to show us images even across distance. He showed us you the day you gave your daddy what for." He smirked, "it gave us the opportunity we needed to mount our assaults, in and outside the facility.

"So you're what? A good guy now." Claire asked the words thick in her mouth, and they came out with far more derision than she had intended. His eyes sparked in response and he drew his hands together across his chest, she got the impression it wasn't a defensive gesture, more to prevent himself from throttling her from where he sat.

"No Claire. I tore half the little toy soldiers in that building into iddy biddy little frozen, melted pieces. What I am is a freak, a monster, someone with an affliction... different, special." He stood swiftly, standing over her with inhuman speed, so that she was forced to draw on every reserve she had not to take a step back. "I'm a threat to National Security, and to the safety of pure, thorough bred, decent human beings everywhere." He leaned in close, so that his face was inches from hers and she could smell the coolness of his breath as it fanned across her cheek. "Just. Like. You." He punctuated the last line deliberately slowly, for effect, it worked. Bile rose in her chest, she had thought escape would be the answer, that once she was back outside in the real world, it would all go away, and she could go back to her old life.

"Our old lives are gone. The old world is gone. This place is something else now. The world knows about us, and is terrified of us. They catch you on the streets with so much as a hair out of place you get strung up for the roaring crowd." He was enjoying telling her she realised, as the cold smirk tugged at his lips.

"So I'm just like you, at least in the eyes of the whole world. You must be so proud, wasn't that always what you wanted for me?" she snapped, unable to keep the venom and bitterness from creeping in. He laughed, at her, which stung more than it should have. "Oh we're alike in only what we are, but public opinion couldn't be more divided." He snorted and waved his hand at the ancient looking TV in the corner of the room, half buried; she hadn't even noticed it there. The news channel flicked to life. Carnage littered the screen, images of bodies, burnt, frozen, no image was spared for the faint of heart, he flicked to another channel the same images, complete with tearful pictures of soldiers sobbing and retching over fallen comrades. He raised the volume on the next channel and guided her to sit on the bed, pushing her onto it when she resisted. Her legs felt like lead as Sylar's image appeared, next came the pictures of people she knew, Peter's, Mohinder, Flint, Angela, the Hatian... all of them wanted as part of the terrorist group of 'non-humans' that had caused this devastation. The news caster drew it out, replaying previous atrocities, which seemed to be the work of people with abilities if the mess was anything to go by. Then came the real news, or at least that was how the world would see it. What they came for, the grand reveal that this was a secret facility to protect a very special individual. Her picture, one from her old life, where she looked sweet, innocent, happy, flashed across the screen. Nathan showed up on the screen, his eyes blood shot, his suit a mess, he had clearly been scanning the rubble, it was all so expertly done she almost felt the need to clap for them.

"The young girl you have just seen is called Claire, and she is my daughter. Like so many of you I have come to realise the pain of having a relative born different, especially in today's climate. People can't be trusted, and certainly not with powers the likes that we have seen here tonight. But my Claire was different, she can heal, her blood has been performing what can only be described as miracles. And she has been here, working with me tirelessly to help people, veterans, soldiers, the sick and the injured. He pulled loose a vial and held it up to the camera. This is my daughter's blood." He turned to one of the medical units, carrying a soldier away on a gurney and called them over. "I understand that many of you are going to be shocked by this, some of you won't understand it, others I hope will." He took the proffered needle from the medical team and made a show of drawing out the blood from the vial. He threw the cover off the corpse of the dead marine, his body a charred mess, and injected it into his chest with suitable dramatic flourish that had her shaking her head in disbelief and complete rage. It took only moments, of course, much to the surprise and complete awe of the reporter and her crew. The marine sat up, gasping to life and choking in that fresh breath, his skin unblemished, beneath tattered charred clothing. "Sir?" he questioned seeing Nathan.

"What do you remember last soldier?" Nathan snapped at the young, still slightly stunned looking marine.

"Fire sir... one of the attackers, his hands were on fire, then I was on fire and ..." he trailed off. Nathan clapped him on the shoulder.

"It's ok son. Let the team take you to the hospital you'll be right as rain."

Then Nathan turned back to the camera, and to his eager public, Claire could almost imagine the people, hunched closer to the TV, waiting for Saint Nathan to reveal the miracle to them.

"What you have just seen was no trick. That marine was dead, killed, by a man with the ability to manipulate and create fire from his hands, when he and a group of other insurgents stormed this facility, they were looking for the very thing I have just shown you. A miracle cure. What they found was my little girl, the source of this miracle. Someone that has worked her whole life to fight people like that, to work around her differences. The government doesn't want me to tell you this, but I don't care." His voice was steel his eyes that of a man who's daughter had been stolen by fire breathing monsters in the night. "But this is my daughter. Her blood can heal those hurt by people with abilities, injuries caused by unnatural causes. All she has ever tried to do with her ability is help us win this war. And I'll be damned if I let them get away with this. I'm coming for you Claire, daddy's coming."

Claire would have thrown something at the screen but Sylar had it off before she'd even half thought about reaching for the lamp.

"People are going to buy that crap?" Claire asked in disbelief.

Sylar rocked backwards slowly on his chair, staring up at the ceiling his arms once more loosely across his chest. "Of course they will." He replied without even looking at her. "Nathan is their shining knight in the war against abilities. And the idea that he's had this tragic secret, a child born like the very people he's trying to help... well that's just icing on the cake, especially if her blood is a miracle cure that can save people from us. Hell we're the dragons that stole the princess from the tower. The public, the yokels, the press, they'll lap this up. There won't be a place you can show your face, and anyone standing next to you will have theirs blown off." He shook his head, as if trying to shake away the idiocy of the world and failing before he stilled and brought those eyes back to her.

"So that's why you came. You're already public enemy number one. Why make everyone else hated even more." She reasoned.

Sylar grinned. "No, Peter was supposed to save you, this was supposed to be his job, but he encountered a few problems, was too slow. I reached your cell first. Since then..." he shrugged trailing off. "Whatever their plans were I don't know or care. I joined that fight to get you out... that's it. I never agreed what would happen to you once you were out, or what my role would be in that break out. Just that I'd help."

Claire eyed him wearily, and tucked her legs underneath her on the bed. "I don't care what your reasons were either, not really, not anymore. You saved my life. You dragged me back kicking and screaming into this stinking world. So you're responsible for that life. I won't thank you for it. Because honestly, I don't want to live, not with the knowledge that I will always be hunted, always a freak, some commodity to be locked away and tortured. But if one day the world changes, and that place is long gone... maybe then I will thank you." He frowned, she wasn't sure if it was from her words or from reading her mind.

"I believe you believe that." He replied finally. "They broke their little unbreakable doll." He taunted mildly, "shame." He added quietly, but the regret in his voice seemed genuine, so much so that even he looked surprised at it. "You should get some sleep Claire." He added suddenly, jumping to his feet, like he had a purpose. "You can have the bed, I'll take the couch." Claire took a moment to note the chivalry in the serial killer before snorting lightly at the idea.

"Thanks." She replied sarcastically, at his confused, slightly hurt look at her response, clearly when he made a gesture throwing it back in his face was the absolute wrong thing to do. "It's just... I don't sleep. I think I forgot how." She shrugged apologetically.

"Forgot?" he asked mildly bemused and sounding oddly impressed.

"Yeah, well three years with tubes and needles stuck in you repeatedly through the night would give you a different perspective on it too. My body doesn't need it anyway... apparently it was just habit." She glanced down at her nails, they were pristine, like the rest of her, not a knock on them, and just the average length they always were. "It's funny just how many things we do out of habit, how many things they took." Her voice shook, and she caught herself. She wouldn't cry in front of the serial killer.

"You should probably stop thinking of me that way." He supplied quietly, from somewhere over her shoulder. His expression unreadable when she turned around to look at him, he was inside her head, reading her mind; the thought was terrifying.

"I'd call you my hero... but like I said, I don't think I've been saved, not really. The way I understand it I've gone from a cell imprisoned by a sick manipulative Petrelli, to another cell, where my jailer is... guess what, another sick manipulative Petrelli!"

He was across the room in seconds his hand around her jaw, all but lifting her off the floor by it, so those hateful eyes could blaze at her. "Maybe you missed the memo, but I am not a Petrelli." He snapped at her, she felt the way his arms trembled, his rage barely contained. "And I am nothing like that coward politician of a father you have. He fancies himself something special... when we are something special, and it sickens him, terrifies him. He is nothing; and me... I am something! You compare us again, and I'll put you right back where I found you." He snarled, his voice lower and darker than she knew the human voice was able to achieve. The memory flickered to life behind her eyes, of the last time they had met... her shoving the piece of glass through his head. At the time she hadn't been focussed on anything else but getting the drop on him. She hadn't listened to what he and Angela were saying, but the words filtered through now, her body repairing the memory that too many brain death's had killed off.

"Did you find your real parents?" she asked curiosity overwhelming her better judgement. He released her as though she'd burned him.

"No." He replied. "And Angela isn't what she once was; they had her in a cell for a while, couple of years ago. When they realised what she could do they shot her up with god knows what, electro-shock therapy... she's just one big receiver now. Barely able to string a coherent word together. We use her like a wireless radio, able to pick up threats, warn us if something's coming big enough to slip onto her radar." Claire took a moment to digest the idea of Angela; a woman who had been so powerful, reduced to that... it was horrible. Whatever her grandmother had been, whatever she had done, no one deserved to have their mind pulled apart like that.

"I wanted to kill her too." Sylar told her calmly seemingly picking up on her line of thought effortlessly.

"Can you not do that? It's disturbing... and rude." She added as an afterthought.

"But faster. I find it cuts through the bullshit people like to spout. Although I'll admit, you are a refreshing change; so far there's been a minimal of that from you. And surprisingly little whining. I'd expected you to be a ball of over sensitised nerves, whining and crying at your lot."

Claire narrowed her eyes at him and wrapped her arms around herself. Not from the sudden cold of the desert night, that would never bother her. No it was the idea of a monster like Sylar picking up on just how damaged she was, how broken. Hollow. Except for the rage. "Is this what it feels like to be you?" she asked him pointedly.

He cocked his head thoughtfully, listening to her mind she imagined, a faint smile on his lips. "No. I don't hate the world Claire. But the emptiness, the hollow feeling inside that you don't know how to fill, that I can understand. They made something inside that cell, more than miracle blood didn't they..." he was fixated on her now, like suddenly she was fascinating. "You don't care about the war, or what's left of your family, or even yourself. You just want to watch them burn. Now that... that I can understand." He laughed then. "They made you this way, it's funny," he added suddenly contemplative, "we were both made monsters by men that you called Father." It was a connection she'd rather he hadn't made, and did nothing to ease the ache in her chest where her heart had once been as the memory of her real father returned. He was probably long dead, Nathan had never answered her on that issue.

"Brain damage?" he asked more to himself than to anyone else. Claire raised an eyebrow, not sure if he was trying to be funny about the fact that she had once been a Cheerleader, or if he could hear the memories returning slowly "the latter." He supplied grinning again.

"The technique they found to get blood from a stone, had a tendency of killing me. For the past year I've died for 11 minutes a grand total of nine times every 24 hours." He winced, she hadn't expected it. "Yeah well, my body brought me back, however reluctantly, at least to semi-consciousness, like you found me. But some of the damage to my brain, specifically memory it didn't repair. I only notice it when I try to remember something, or someone, then my brain makes the connection and repairs the damage. It'll probably happen a lot for a while." She shrugged. Yet another freakish thing her body could do to add to the growing list.

"You should show more respect for your ability." Claire waved him away, and his suggestion. "I'm serious Claire." He snapped, his temper flaring again, she remembered now, it was a pet peeve of his, he craved abilities, didn't think people deserved them. She was just adding to that belief. He grabbed her by the elbow, spinning her around to stare at him. "They tested me you know, just like Peter, only they held higher hopes for me, that because I didn't just copy a power but learnt it for myself, that maybe I would be able to do what you could." He reached out his index finger and drew it across her cheek, the old Claire would have flinched; the new Claire did so internally. "I couldn't. They were very... disappointed." The emphasis he put on that word left her with no doubt just how much he hated Nathan and the Division. "Out of everyone there, they only found a handful of people they could use, besides you of course. Molly, and Parkman were two, but Parkman was unreliable, a deviant personality apparently. And Molly, well she was becoming more like her adopted old dad every day in there. Angela became useless when her mind broke on them. And Micah, well he was too much of a risk. Pretty soon, the only one they could use was the little Princess they were bleeding dry in the basement. They tried to exterminate us. Took us out, day after day, and made us dig our own grave, one long giant one. Right there in the courtyard." It was sad, tragic, and she felt what once would have been tears attempt to form, but she couldn't do it, the tears wouldn't come. He scrutinised her and pushed her away. "Daddy really did a number on you didn't he. The Claire I remember was full of righteous indignation at the evils of the world. Wanted to go out there and make a difference. This Claire, she can't even bring herself to feel ... because feeling, it's something else you lost on the reboot wasn't it."

"Thanks to you."

"It always would have happened, your body just woke up to the fact that for you pain was unnecessary, no warning was needed about damage. It just took an injury severe enough for your body to make the change. Just like what happened with the needles. You did it to yourself. You decided that pain wasn't needed, if you couldn't die. And you decided that blood didn't need to keep flowing if you could regenerate dead tissue. I had nothing to do with it." His words were scathing and absolutely true, something he and the Division had in common, they never lied, at least not to her. "I could only duplicate your ability. I can heal. But all this other stuff, that's all you, I could never turn my pain off... I'm just not wired that way. It's not an ability, it's just something uniquely you."


	3. Sleepless Nights and Empty Days

**Title: FUGITIVES - by Devilishlysas83**

**Disclaimer/Claimer: **I don't own Heroes, Sylar, Claire or any of the other characters. I just borrow them to feed my muse from time to time.  
**Rating: **PG-13 to NC-17, for some sexuality and dark themes  
**Fandom: **Heroes  
**Pairing: **Sylar/Claire  
**Spoilers: **AU to Fugitives Season, written in the hiatus after Villains ended. General spoilers for Season 3  
**Word count: **~40,000  
**Author's Note:** Originally written as two fics, the start was Captives, the follow up Fugitives, all posted together in separate chapters.

**Chapter 3: Sleepless Nights and Empty Days**

Her first night of so called freedom wasn't really what she had been expecting. But then when you were rescued by a serial killer that had once scalped you and examined your brain after having hunted you for two years... then she supposed she was entitled to feel a little disquieted. He snored, rolling over onto his side with a loud grunt, which forced her eyes onto his shifting form. His bare chest shone in the moonlight that filtered through his un-curtained windows. Apparently he didn't even bother with mosquito nets... but then what did mosquitoes matter to people like them? She wasn't sure what to make of Sylar. He was trying very hard to remind her that he was a killer, that he had hunted and hurt her all those years ago. But despite her recently lapses, her memory was usually perfect, another curse of her biology. She remembered his words as he had held her face almost tenderly in that cell, willing life back into her, demanding that she fight. They hadn't been the words of a man that despised her, nor to whom she was merely a bargaining chip, a way to stick it to Nathan. Then his words in the forest, to the others, when he had refused to relinquish her to their care, claiming that he had only come for her... that she believed, she just wasn't sure why. She stood and silently moved to watch him sleep. It was something she missed; there was a certain amount of relief to the activity, where you let go of your consciousness, and however briefly you got to forget. He scowled, tossing in his sleep, but he didn't mutter, Claire wished he would, so she could at least that way perhaps discover what made him tick. But he was a much a mystery asleep as he was awake. She sighed, her hand hovering over his skin, not daring to touch it. She'd always had him pegged, always been so certain who he was and what he was capable of. Had she been wrong? Could a killer like him ever be more... ever be something different. Could they be allies? Were they already, just by both being born different, by being thrown into the same team, however ragtag and broken that team was?

Claire watched him, the serial killer and the broken doll, lost in the Mexican desert. In all her life she'd never heard of something more absurd, and yet so right. This was the last place her father would think to look for her. They'd all believe it was Peter, with his many abilities that had waltzed into their little facility and stole her away into the night... Peter the eternal hero. But he hadn't, something else had come for her, and it wasn't heroism that drew him, wasn't even a sense of right and wrong, she watched his dark thick eyebrows knit together in his sleep. _'How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?' 'why is there evil?', 'how do we make love stay?' _ She'd had no answer to those questions when he'd first posed them to her, she still didn't, but wondered if somehow he did?

The sunlight filtered into the small wooden and mud shack, illuminating in the harsh light of day what she hadn't looked too hard at in the darkness. Of course sterility, infection, weren't things either of them needed to worry about... but still. She caught herself considering the unsanitary nature of her hidey hole and snickered, of all her problems that was the one she chose to dwell on... maybe there was more of the old Claire left than she knew.

"Something funny?" his rough, sleep riddled voice broke the silence of the morning.

"More and more." She replied, not turning to look at him from her position in front of the window on the rocking chair, surprisingly soothing, albeit a little bleak staring out across a desert. "I used to care about a lot of meaningless things. If my Dad loved me? What people thought of me, what would happen to me if people knew? What my limits were? What college should I pick? Would I ever have a normal life? They all seem so pointless now." She glanced back at him as he rubbed his face wearily, trying to clear the sleep away, it was odd to see him weak... human. "I miss the innocence I think."

"It's the hardest thing for people like us to come to accept. That there never was any. Our innocence wasn't stolen; we were just enlightened, had those rosy glasses removed from our eyes. People like that always make the best monsters; it's that bitter disappointment in the world that drives us."

"Don't compare us, we aren't alike, I might be something cold now, but I'm not a monster, I haven't travelled up and down the US scalping people."

"Not yet." He muttered, dragging himself out of bed.

"Not a morning person then?" she called after him as he stumbled into the bathroom, and apparently straight into the shower. Normal life, showers that weren't a hose held by glass eyed doctors and lab techs, she hadn't been expecting that. She crossed to the kitchen and started pulling out the cans from the cupboard... "Do you have anything that isn't chips or sauce?" she called after him, slightly exasperated, apparently it didn't matter what type of guy you were, they all stocked the same, at least from her experience. Claire tried the fridge, and slammed it shut again with a gag. "Oh my god," she clasped a hand over her mouth, and apparently he cleaned like a guy too. He emerged from the shower, dripping wet, just his black jogging pants on, towelling off his hair with his ever present scowl in place.

"Do you ever shut up?" he snapped.

"I've been stuck in a facility that fed me intravenously through a drip for the past three years, because it was more efficient for my bodies needs. I want some food, real food." She kicked the fridge door for effect, "whatever the hell that was in there won't do."

"Fine." He threw the towel at her, leaving his hair a half wet ruffled mess, that shouldn't have made her glance twice... only she couldn't seem to stop. "But you stay put. Your face is too recognisable."

He vanished then, the air ruffled as he left, she called after him, "And yours isn't?" of course there was no response. She sighed, turning around to put back the chips she'd pulled out. The air rushed passed her again and she almost jumped out of her skin, as a steaming hot bag was placed on the counter beside her and hands landed on her shoulders. She clasped her heart on reflex, trying to still the sudden pounding as she looked up to find him smirking back at her.

"Miss me?" he asked her playfully.

"Depends what you bought me." She returned, trying to maintain whatever this oddly lighter feeling was that she had. She wasn't miserable, not now, in this moment, it was something else she hadn't expected.

"Mexican." He deadpanned.

"Ah." Claire replied, "Well, given the circumstances, I can't think of anything better." She opened the bag and simply stood there a stupid grin on her face. "Oh my god! That smells so good. I never thought I'd smell food, real food again. At least not that I'd get to eat." She started pulling the packages out.

"There's a little restaurant I found, in Oaxaca, family owned traditional Mexican cooking. The little old lady that runs it seems to have taken to me, I look like her long dead son apparently. She only gives me the best." He shrugged and began helping her with the food. "And she's never offended when I ask for it to go." He cocked his head, "Of course this order wasn't strictly mine, but I'm sure she won't mind when she realises it's gone."

"Maybe someday you could take me there." Claire asked idly, ignoring his admission of theft. His mood did one of its flips again and he grabbed her elbow spinning her so that she was pushed between him and the counter. For the first time she remembered her state of dress, or rather the lack of it. The shift she still wore did nothing to help. She'd been tempted to steal one of his shirts, but the idea of having his smell surrounding her, of something that was his touching her, it had been too much, her memory hadn't let her forget who and what he was.

"I can't take you there." He leaned in close, their foreheads almost touching. "Your picture is everywhere, everywhere I look, I thought it would just be in the good old US of A. But Nathan's a man of God, of faith, and that crosses borders. You're their angel, sent to save them from the wickedness of our inhumanity." His hand was on her face, drawing them closer still, as his leg slid between her legs. She gasped, having no clue how to handle him, to handle this.

"Let go of me." She had meant to say it boldly, but it came out as more of a whisper.

"Are you their angel Claire?" he asked his voice softer than she had ever wanted to hear from him. He slid even closer, until their chests were touching and she could feel the steady thump of his heart. Her hands came up to push him away, but he grasped her wrists before she could even make contact. "Are you my angel Claire?" his lips hovered so close to hers that she could share his breath, enough to realise he had brushed his teeth.

"I'm no ones angel Sylar, least of all yours." She tried to move, attempting to break the sudden tension. He frowned and pushed her back hard enough to bruise... if she still could be.

"Gabriel." He breathed, not letting her eyes leave his.

Claire paused, trying to decipher his meaning, she was still stuck on the angels comment and the name of the archangel threw her. "What?"

"It's my name." He breathed, then his mouth crashed against hers. She couldn't fight him, she never could, he always had all the power whenever they met. Her lips didn't respond, but his insistence was impressive, his large hands took hold of her slight form, clutching her to him, she could taste his desire, for whatever reason he wanted her. And the way he held her, he seemed to think that he deserved her. His tongue pressed into her mouth and she didn't stop him, the sensation sent her head spinning, for the first time in a long time someone was making her feel something. Granted she hadn't expected to feel this, and not with him. Her mouth moved against his and she could almost feel the elation explode from him. His hands dropped to her ass and lifted her onto the counter top, not giving her any other option as he pulled her legs around his slim waist. Fire seemed to flood her, and she groaned as a hand took hold of a breast, she let his mouth plunder her, responding fiercely. It was such a relief just to feel anything; she couldn't let it go, even if it was Sylar. "Gabriel." He hissed, kissing every inch of the skin around her lips. _'Sylar.' _She corrected him internally; he shoved her hard, forcing her back down onto the counter, so he could cover her with his weight, their legs still dangling off the side, tangled together. He pulled his mouth away and stared at her eye to eye, the intensity burning in them was unnerving. "Why do I want you Claire?" he asked her, with complete seriousness, dropping his head to her chest so he could hold her closer.

"Do you?" she asked not really wanting it to be true.

"I broke into a facility that tried to take my abilities; that tortured me, made me weak. I went back to a place I promised I'd watch burn from a distance... because I heard you were there." He gripped her face and turned it to the side so he could kiss her jaw. "I heard you screaming." He admitted finally and she felt him shudder against her. "Screaming and screaming, I couldn't see enough of your mind to see why, all I could hear was that, no matter how far I ran." He brushed his index fingers, along the column of her throat. "I never questioned that it was you, or why I could hear you." His lips found hers, gentle this time, but insistent, she responded lightly, her mind spinning, unable to form one coherent thought, before he pulled away again. "Why couldn't I leave you there, just ignore the pain I heard in your voice, the despair. Why did I go back?"

She grasped his head in her hands, drawing his troubled face to hers. "I don't know." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "But you did, and I'm here, and what happened to me in there, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

"Isn't that me?" he grasped her around the waist drawing her even closer still, but his voice, was almost broken.

"Maybe once." She sighed. "I don't know what you are now. However it happened, we're on the same team now." His hands slid up her ribs pushing the smock away as he went. Maybe she should have tried to hide from his eyes, those hungry, dangerous eyes that were filled with more than she wanted to see. She didn't trust him, she probably never would, and she didn't like him, of that she was certain, he was a monster, and he couldn't change. But right now he was warm, and solid and safe, and he made her feel something other than the cold chill of nothing.

Then he was gone, pushed away from her. She felt oddly bereft without his weight, his warmth over her. But he was already spinning away from her, picking up the bag as he went."You need to eat." He called back to her, laying the table, his mood shifted again, just as suddenly as the first time. "And shower. There are some fresh clothes in the bathroom for you, I picked them up from a store on the way through town this morning." She interpreted picked up literally, she highly doubted he ever paid for anything. Claire watched him warily for a moment as he refused to look at her, concentrating instead on his task, until she'd hopped down from the counter and slammed the bathroom door. His eyes never left her back, she couldn't feel much but she could feel them scorching her as she walked, right until the door closed between them. In the bathroom she stood staring at her reflection in the mirror, she should have known what to expect, her appearance never changed, and it never would, so she'd better get comfortable meeting those eyes. She pressed fingers to her lips, the memory of his against her sending a fresh shiver through her. She didn't lust after Sylar, the idea of him sickened her, or at least it had. But that was a long time ago, and the world had been a different place, for them that world was gone. So why had he effected her? Was she simply so starved for affection, for touch and feeling that she'd cling to the closest psychopath that offered, even if he was ruggedly handsome, dark and mysterious? Apparently so! Tutting with disgust at herself she slipped into the shower, trying to savour the feel of the water against her skin, hot or cold, it didn't matter, she couldn't feel either, just the water sliding over her without blistering intensity was soothing.

He had picked the right size clothes she noted, slipping into the jeans, and the black vest he'd left for her. Even the flip flops were sized up exactly for her feet, had he measured her somehow? Or had he simply watched her long enough now to know even that much about her? She should have been disturbed, she wasn't, right now with the smell of food wafting through the door, she was glad he cared enough to find her clothes, he could have left her half naked in that smock, god knows given his reaction earlier he probably would have preferred it. She smoothed her wet blonde hair with fingers, even that was unchanging, they'd tried to cut it inside, easier to manage they'd said, but her hair had grown back out again almost instantly, right back to where it was that day she'd first had her powers in her room, when she'd cut her hand. Forever seventeen!

"So what's on the menu?" She called to him as she pulled open the door, trying to ignore what had happened on the counter to her right only a few minutes before. She approached the table where he was already tucking in, so he pushed a plate towards her that he had already piled high.

"It's going cold. Just eat." He muttered, using his fingers with abandon.

She sighed, and started in on the only thing she recognised, the chilli filled tacos. He tutted as her hand went for it. "Try this first." He offered her a bowl of green pepper looking veg. "Nopales salad." He told her, then he indicated the other dish with his fork, Enchilades with traditional mole sauce. It's made with about 30 different ingredients, spices, flavourings." She raised an eyebrow and did as requested. Maybe she was just being sentimental, maybe her memory had failed again, but she honestly couldn't remember food tasting so good. He laughed at her as she ate, maybe she looked like a pig, but she honestly didn't care. It was just so good to sit at a table, to laugh with someone eating Mexican food. It didn't much matter who it was, or where. Half way through the meal he'd slid into the seat beside her instead of opposite. He'd finished eating some time before, and she was still happily tucking it away, she could see his disbelief growing.

"You'll end up the size of a horse." He warned.

Claire let out a bark of laughter, crunching off the last piece of her taco. "I wish. I can't even get a hang nail... I'll look this way forever, bad food or not." She grinned, but it didn't reach her eyes, this was a sore subject for her.

"I don't mind that." He rasped, she barely had time to realise he had moved, before she was sat on his lap, his hands buried in her now tangled wet hair, his lips against her throat. "You are beautiful Claire." He told her, before pulling back so that he could stroke her face. "I used to hate that about you." The admission seemed unexpected and his eyes widened, almost as though he couldn't believe he'd told her that. "I used to hate girls like you. The popular girls, the cheerleaders, so obvious and vacuous. Obsessed with themselves, their appearance, treating the whole world like it owed them something." His lips attacked hers and she could almost feel the hatred he once felt for them, for her as he placed her back on the table pushing the leftover food aside. "When I found out that one of those girls had been granted a power like yours... I wanted to make you suffer, wanted to drag it out, make you plead and beg!" She didn't dare move, just stilled in his arms, letting her body take his weight, too afraid to move from those eyes. "Then you tried to protect your friend, you stood up, broken and bloody, healing and you stared at me squarely. I had never felt so seen, so utterly exposed than I did right then. I dreamed about you and your power for so long, a whole year. I thought I could anticipate you, your reactions, be ready for what it would feel like to hold you in my grasp again." He slid hands across her thighs, and the memory of her mother's concern for her, and what he'd wanted that day in Costa Verda returned, she had dismissed it as the concerns of a mother for her teenage daughter and nothing more, never had the thought that Sylar, would want something like this... his hands slid up the plane of her stomach and she took a deep breath, trying to calm the influx of sensation her body was starved for. "You were magnificent." He whispered against her ear his tongue flicking out to taste the lobe. "I had never enjoyed the chase more, never had to work so hard for it. And then when you didn't lose consciousness, to finally show someone Sylar, what I truly was. I could have left, left them to find you like that, defiled, broken, empty on that table. But I couldn't, you deserved better. It's all I can seem to think whenever I see you Claire. That you deserve better." His length rubbed against the material of her jeans and she wasn't sure she agreed with him, a part of her, the part that pushed her hips against his to increase the sensation, thought she deserved exactly this. "Then when I saved you from that vortex, when I touched your hand, I hadn't learnt to control my new ability, it overwhelmed me... you overwhelmed me. I felt you, saw you, saw how much I had hurt you, how much your father had. I saw that part of you that you never let anyone else see, that deep dark need to make the world see you for something else, to revenge yourself on them all, especially me." He had divested her of her top with the minimal amount of effort, she closed her arms around her chest, not willing to leave herself so exposed, especially not with him recanting some of their worst history above her. But his hands were insistent easing hers apart so he could see her breasts. "Perfect." He breathed, capturing one with his mouth and taking the other in a warm palm.

"What about Primatech." She snapped, her memory forming a new connection, "You killed my mother." The memory hit her hard and she shoved him away violently. "Oh my god you killed Meredith, you killed my mother. You tried to make me choose." She rolled from underneath his suddenly still form and stalked across to the other side of the room, clutching her arms around herself. He was behind her in moments, his frame, so large in comparison; it utterly enveloped her, trapping her.

"I just wanted you to see me Claire, wanted you to understand the hunger inside me, to feel it. I wanted you to be like me." He spun her around in his arms, but she was too confused to accommodate him, was the past still relevant?

Claire reached out her arms and grasped his biceps, putting some space between them. "And now, what do you want now from me?" she pressed. "A play thing? Something to break, a broken little doll you want to put back together so you can smash all over again?" She shoved him, but he barely rocked back.

His arms came around her, grasping her face with both hands again. "I want to see you smile. I want to keep you safe. I don't want to hear you scream like that again." Sylar's mouth was on hers, this man killed her mother, tried to kill her father so many times, he'd hunted her for three years, hurt and killed her friends. Terrorized her entire family. And he'd saved her. Did it absolve him? Her back hit the bed, and her mouth moved against his. Their clothes disappeared as his hands found her flesh, and she lost almost all reason to her senses. It was only as he was poised above her, grasping his shaft and pressing against her insistently that she came back to herself. She held her hands on his shoulders, not pushing, just stopping.

"Wait." To his credit he did, he seemed surprised by it himself. But those eyes told her that if she asked him to stop he couldn't, wouldn't.

"Are you a killer?" he frowned, his brows heavy again. "Just the truth Gabriel." She appeased him with the use of his name.

"Yes." He kissed her hard.

"Do you enjoy killing?"

"Yes." His hand grasped between her legs impatiently and made her gasp.

"Will you ever stop?"

He stilled above her, letting her see him, as if he finally caught on to what she was doing.

"No. I'll never stop." He slid inside of her then with one swift decisive and powerful stroke, filling her completely and forcing her back to arch off the bed as she stretched to accommodate him. The barrier to her virginity broken, it would reform, of course, she would always be a virgin at least physically. He remained still within her, his eyes locked with hers, waiting... even he, it seemed, forgot that there was nothing he could do to hurt her.

"I won't leave you," he promised her moving slowly, but with certainty, she might have been inexperienced but he wasn't. He pressed his chest against her, whilst his hands grasped her hips, lifting them up so he could thrust deeper. "I'll never leave you. Never let them take you. I can protect you." He whispered drawing her lips to his fervently, and she believed him. The wave of pleasure began to build in her lower abdomen, so sharp in its intensity she almost asked him to slow down, but his pace only increased. He thrust into her with abandon, his long shaft trailing fire inside of her, his mouth teasing her breasts to taut peaks as he went. It was over almost before it started from her perspective, the sensation exploded in her abdomen and made her head spin as her legs tightened around him, drawing him in a shuddering thrust that left him breathless and emptying himself inside of her. "Sylar." Spilled from her lips and he stilled, it was not the name he wanted her to use, but as his mouth captured hers, he seemed to understand that it was the one she would use. They'd established it was who he was, she wouldn't pretend. His lips lowered to her stomach, his tongue in her belly button, as her breathing grew steady and her chest stopped heaving. This wasn't love, and neither of them was foolish enough to think it could ever be. It was need. Want. Safe. They were a fit, everything in their lives it seemed had led them to this point, where they could either kill each other, or save each other. He'd already made his choice when he ran back into his own personal hell for her. She'd accepted him when she hadn't stopped him from entering her, even when she knew who and what he still was.

He rested his head against her chest, and fell still, slipping from between her legs smoothly, but refusing to leave the warmth of her body. Claire placed a hand on his head, sliding the fingers between his thick black hair.

"I want them dead. I want it over." She told him softly. He didn't look up, but his arms tightened around her waist.

"Done." He promised, finally meeting her eyes as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. It was a relief, anyone else would have judged her, tried to force her to consider the morality involved, to convince her that killing someone was never the right way. Peter would have tried to talk her out of it, tried to hide her away. Sylar wouldn't, and in that moment she felt whole, accepted.


	4. Bury me Deep

**Title: FUGITIVES - by Devilishlysas83**

**Disclaimer/Claimer: **I don't own Heroes, Sylar, Claire or any of the other characters. I just borrow them to feed my muse from time to time.  
**Rating: **PG-13 to NC-17, for some sexuality and dark themes  
**Fandom: **Heroes  
**Pairing: **Sylar/Claire  
**Spoilers: **AU to Fugitives Season, written in the hiatus after Villains ended. General spoilers for Season 3  
**Word count: **~40,000  
**Author's Note:** Originally written as two fics, the start was Captives, the follow up Fugitives, all posted together in separate chapters.

**Chapter 4: Bury me Deep**

Of course they hadn't been able to stay in their little sanctuary forever, Sylar and his many abilities could give them warning, but even that cut it close. She awoke to him zipping around the room like a madman, the word 'what' half formed on her mouth, but he'd already thrown an arm around her waist and they were gone. He stopped several miles from the little house in the desert that had been her sanctuary for two short days, just in time to watch the swat teams descend from the chopper, controlled explosions going off everywhere as they attempted to incapacitate them both.

"How did they find us?" she asked uneasily.

"You." He corrected her, his eyebrows once more drawn together in deep concentration as he watched the men tear his home apart. "They found you, not me. They have no idea who's 'holding' you." He replied sighing.

"How can they track me to an isolated desert location, and not know about you?"

"They're tracking system is being... temperamental." He grinned, "Teenagers tend to get that way when you lock them up and force them to find their hero."

"Molly?" Sylar nodded.

"She's not being a good little company agent by the looks of it. She can focus on you and tell them where you are, but apparently her power just doesn't extend to tracking who's next to you, not unless she knows who it is in advance." He smirked, "which is of course tripe, she knows where everyone is at every moment of every day. She knows full well who has you, and apparently she thinks I'm safer than the Division." He laughed lightly, "Will wonders never cease."

Claire frowned and looked across at the shack, it was almost reduced to rubble now, and the agents were stomping around outside, looking thoroughly mad. "Did we leave some evidence I was there?" she paused, "I mean Molly will be punished otherwise."

Sylar didn't move his gaze from the activity across the desert, "Your Division issue smock is... was", he amended looking at the smoking remains, "in there." He reached down grasping her around the waist and pulling her flush against him as her feet left the floor, the duffel bag with his meagre belongings in his other hand as he ran. Claire wasn't sure she would ever be used to the sensation of the world flying past with such speed that your only option was to look down to avoid hurling.

"Where are we going?" she asked finally as they stopped.

"Somewhere Molly can't find us. I think I can block her, but I need to talk to Parkman again." He paused as if considering telling her something unpleasant, he had never tried to spare her feelings before...

"Spit it out." She snapped, weary already of running after only five days of it.

"Well Angela will be there, with Peter, I need to use her, find out if she can see a safe place to stash you, somewhere they won't look for a while at least." He added, and the distaste in the way he said 'use' reminded her of his words, that he had wanted to kill Angela, to put her out of her misery, that Peter forbid it.

"So a family reunion."

"In more ways than one. Your father's not dead." He told her quietly then stilled, as if expecting some sort of back lash. But she was too stunned to do more than just stand their dumbly.

"You mean, my real father."

"Yes. Agent Bennett, Mr. Horn Rims himself." Sylar clarified, squeezing her hand tightly, as if afraid she might suddenly bolt.

"How?"

Sylar shrugged, "You know your father, he's like a cockroach." He had clearly meant it as an insult, but the inflection suggested that Sylar actually admired the man that had taught him so much, created him, hunted him.

"He won't be happy to see us, well to see me with you." She clarified.

"No." Sylar added, staring down at the top of her head because she was refusing to look up at him.

"It's up to you though. If you think they can protect you," he slid a hand against her cheek and gently inclined her head so she had no choice but to see him. "Think that they can stop Nathan and his goons when they come... and they will." He leaned forward then and his lips, lips she hadn't touched since that morning days before, brushed feather light over hers. "If you think they will be as motivated as me to keep you safe, whole...mine." he pressed and took her face with both hands, leaving the bag to drop with a thump to the floor, as he deepened the kiss, tasting her mouth with his tongue, and sending desire and sensation flooding through her. "Can they give you what you need Claire," his right hand slid down her body, brushing her breasts as it went until he grasped her jean clad ass firmly, pulling her soft body against his hard contours. "They have no idea what you need, they'd try to treat you like the little girl you were, they would never understand those desires you keep locked away." He attacked her neck, his tongue tracing down to the hollow of her throat in one long sweep, that went straight to her core. "Do you think they'd indulge you in your wish to make the world pay?" He released her then, letting her slide down the full length of him as he dropped her back on the floor lightly, and swooped to pick up his bag.

Claire raised an eyebrow at him, fully aware that he had just tried to seduce her into staying with him... not a tactic she'd been ready for, and she was surprised but as her heart beat slowly returned to normal she realised it had probably worked. She watched his lips, his breathing wasn't as calm as he wanted her to think, he was just as affected by her, she noticed the slight bulge in his jeans, perhaps even more so. They'd had sex, because she'd needed to feel something, and he'd been there, he'd offered. But watching him, the way he looked, the way he looked at her, she decided she liked what she saw, he was after all attractive, when he wasn't pinning people to walls and scalping them.

"My father could protect me." She added half heartedly, "he won't judge me for wanting to hurt the people that hurt me."

Sylar quirked an eyebrow his teeth bared in a dark grin. "And what about your other needs Claire? Can he give you those too... I hadn't realised the two of you had that kind of relationship."

She groaned in disgust at him, ignoring the eyebrow wiggle he gave her, and almost reconsidered her previous thoughts about him, before returning her attention to where his super-run had left them, specifically, in a forest. "This is where they're hiding?" she asked doubtfully, "What are they, like Robin Hood and his merry men now?"

Sylar didn't laugh but she caught the grin he tried to hide as he stomped through the undergrowth, making entirely more noise than was necessary. "Won't this lead the goon squad to them though? I mean if Molly's tracking us, I don't want to endanger them!" Claire snapped, suddenly unable to believe she'd almost done just that, of course Sylar wouldn't care, but she did.

"Hey!" He snapped, seemingly offended by her mental opinion of him. "And no, Molly can't track us, not so soon after the last one... at least that's what they think. Give Parkman credit where it's due, he really taught her to lie. She needs to recuperate." He grinned shaking his head. "Morons." He laughed then, and continued stomping through the undergrowth dragging her with him by her hand.

"Ok, do you need to announce us quite so spectacularly though? I mean you could be quieter." She indicated the overly large stomp he gave to the cracked branch.

"I want them to hear us, so they turn all their fancy security off. Last time I came here I had to practically trash the thing and they were none too pleased with me about it... and this time I'd like to at least enter before causing a riot." He kissed the back of her hand for emphasis and continued dragging them both through the dense forest.

"Where are we?" she asked, "I mean what part of the world?" he glanced at her.

"Brazillian jungle."

"Terrific." Claire muttered, "Why do hide outs always have to be in the back of beyond. Why couldn't we hide out in a nice studio apartment in New York, or a villa in Southern France?" she raised an eyebrow at him expectantly letting the small smile play over her face so he could tell she was joking.

"High maintenance." He muttered under his breath. "Tell you what; I'll personally turn down your pillows for you." He quipped.

"If that means smothering me with them, I hate to disappoint you." She teased. He was about to reply when guns appeared from behind the trees. But Sylar didn't raise his hands, so she followed suit.

"I see you two are getting on as well as ever." Parkman's voice rang out from the trees, long before she saw him.

"Fancy meeting you here Officer." Sylar quipped, as Parkman lowered the rifle, and a tiny blonde woman zipped in beside him. Claire blinked momentarily surprised to see someone with the same ability as Sylar. He normally killed the people he stole from, the woman seemed familiar but no memory presented itself.

Sylar leant down to whisper in her ear. "Moment of weakness." He shrugged grinning at her and she rolled her eyes at him, big bad monster her arse.

"Didn't think we'd be seeing you again. Not after that last meeting anyway." The young woman with the spiky blonde hair snapped at him. "Figure out you need us, after all her family are all here."

"Not really." Sylar replied smoothly, but didn't elaborate. "So can we come in? I didn't break your shiny toys this time; I think I earned it for showing a little restraint."

Claire snorted. Parkman gave her a sharp look and she remembered he could read minds and attempted to stifle anything incriminating as they waved them inside, leading the way. Nerves began to flutter in her stomach; it seemed ridiculous after all she'd been through in her life, to be suddenly nervous about a family reunion. But then Sylar hadn't exactly given her time to prepare for her father.

"He didn't tell you your father was alive until now?" Parkman snapped, spinning on her and shooting Sylar a threatening look.

"It never came up." Claire shrugged, not meeting the telepathic officer, wishing people would just stay the hell out of her head; it was bad enough with just her in there.

"Must have slipped my mind." Sylar conceded adding his own helpless shrug and half smile, which had the blonde woman laying a restraining hand on Parkman's arm.

"Daphne, why don't you go tell the other's who to expect." Parkman instructed the small blonde finally giving Claire a name for the face, which was enough finally to trigger the memory of her from they're meeting at Primatech. Parkman turned keeping Sylar in front of him with a tilt of his head. "You know the way, lead on."

Sylar smirked and did as requested, clearly enjoying having the power to make people so nervous. He glanced at her as they walked through the concrete tunnels, going further and further underground with each damp step. He reached out and grasped her hand, clearly judging her mood.

"It'll be fine Claire. I promise you." He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, glad for his touch and unable to squash the disquiet at the thought of such a thing, as she inched closer to his side.

"I don't even know why I'm so nervous, I mean they're my family right, they love me." She just trailed off. Remembering Parkman was behind.

"Of course." Sylar replied smoothly.

"I don't want to explain to Peter. If he starts, please just..." Sylar stopped walking and turned her to face him taking her face gently in his hands.

"We don't have to do this, I can find other ways, other people. This is just a precaution to keep you safe. You don't have to be here." Claire closed her eyes and leant into his chest.

"I know, but I feel like I owe them something... even if it's just a goodbye. I need to do this."

Sylar dropped her face and retook her hand. "I'll deal with the mind readers." He aimed the jab behind and Parkman remained wisely silent, as they approached a large metal door. The image stopped her cold. It was a large round metal door, with huge bolts and her feet refused to move, so Sylar almost pulled her over. He stopped and glanced at her and then back at the door, and winced.

"I can't... its stupid and irrational, but I can't. That door." Claire gasped feeling her chest tighten, and her heart twinged in remembered pain of what used to happen beyond a door just like that. Sylar pulled her tight against him, looking startled to find her trembling.

"Claire," he spoke softly and she didn't look up immediately. "Claire!" He tried again more firmly, using his knuckle to raise her chin. "Don't you remember what happened to the last door?" She blinked, her hazy half conscious memory dredging up the image of melted metal. "I told you, when you're with me your safe. I won't leave your side." He wrapped an arm around her waist and half dragged half carried her over the threshold of the huge door; that slid shut behind them. She buried her head in his chest, trying to control her breathing as he stroked her hair, whispering soothing nothings in her ear. It was a strange feeling to be comforted by him still, but she couldn't deny that he was a comfort.

"Claire!" A shout, from a voice she knew so well came from across the room. Heavy footfalls, she barely had time to look up before arms were enveloping her, and tearing her away from the safety that was Sylar. Her father was shaking, whether he was crying or just from the sheer adrenaline she didn't dare check. But he clung to her like she was going to be torn away at a moments notice. "Oh Claire-bear." He cooed and she stiffened. That name really didn't apply to her and the reminder stung. "What's wrong?" he hesitated, pulling back so he could see her face; she noticed the wet tear tracks on his face and had her answer. He gave her a once over, checking for non-existent injuries... habit. "God Claire I've missed you so much. We worked for so long; made so many plans to get you out. You have no idea." He hugged her tightly again, even his scent was familiar, here in this dark, dank, jungle hide-out, but she didn't want to remember the old days. She slipped out of his grasp.

"Hey Dad." She managed weakly, wanting nothing more than to run back into Sylar's arms, to the smell that would wash away the scent of her old life, the old Claire. But instead she smiled, softly, not caring if it reached her eyes, because that was what they wanted to see. Peter was there then, his arms taking hold of her and spinning her around, his words a jumble as her head swam. A mini-explosion seemed to happen behind her eyes as each new face triggered synapses that had degraded, re-firing and reforming the memories she had lost. It was too much, and she was dizzy, confused, she had lost so much in that cell, she'd had no idea just how much of her memory had just vanished along with her blood, only it seemed her body couldn't just make more, not without a trigger. She reached out her hand, grasping, wanting and needing his strength, the wrong hands grasped hers and she felt bile rise. Then he was there, she heard him push through the others and take her hand with his own, those long smooth fingers she would know them anywhere. She grasped him tightly, almost falling into his embrace, as her heart pounded in her chest, her breathing coming in short gasps.

"Memories?" he asked suddenly worried, as voices rang around her, crowding in. "She needs space!" Sylar barked, she felt the ground tremble slightly with his insistence and she couldn't help but be grateful. Of course her father and Peter didn't think that applied to them, her Father's hand was on her back, trying to be soothing, Peter was hovering, firing off questions at Sylar, who she could see was growing angrier by the second. She had to pull herself together, stand up and smile. Tell them she was fine. She clutched Sylar's hand, willing him to hear her with everything she had, '_help me up, just help me get through this, don't let go of me.' _He didn't let go, and he pulled her up to her feet, keeping that steadying hand on her back.

"Sorry, I erm." She paused, trying to slow her breathing. "I have some memory loss, my body can repair it when the memory is triggered, but it's..." she struggled for the words.

"Disorientating." Sylar supplied for her, his hand falling to rest lightly on her lower back, as she refused to release his hand.

"And a little bit unsettling. I hadn't realised just how much I'd lost." She added, trying to offer them a watery sad smile that she didn't feel.

"That's ok honey, you just take as long as you need." Her father held out his hand to her, "Here come with me, we'll get you sat down, get you fed, let us take care of you." Claire panicked, there was no other word for it, her grip on Sylar's hand tightened even as he attempted to release her. Her father, observant as ever, saw her hesitation and his eyes darkened, first at Sylar and then simply at the situation, she would have given anything to know what conclusions he had drawn.

"Food!" Sylar exclaimed fake excitement in his voice, "See Claire, this is a four star hotel here, they already know exactly how to meet your every need." Sylar joked and tried to brush over the sudden tension as she refused to release him and go to her father, as he moved towards the large table and chairs. Peter hesitated in front of them, he looked torn between wanting to help her and punching Sylar. Claire didn't give him the chance to decide, simply sliding into her chair and yanking Sylar down by his hand.

"So what's on the menu. Claire here has quite the appetite now, nearly ate me out of house and home." Sylar was trying, even she had to give him that, with the tension visible in the room he was trying to ignore his worst nature.

"Yeah well, like I said, liquid diets direct into the vein for three years really don't cut it." She smiled gently at them, wishing she hadn't looked at her father, his face seemed so haggered whenever she spoke.

Peter seemed to snap out of his silence, throwing up a smile as fake as her own, but she appreciated the effort. "So, what do you fancy? My treat, anywhere in the world, and we deliver." He watched her earnestly, but his eyes were dark, searching.

"Pizza." Sylar laughed, turning to look at her, "Seriously? Anything in the world and that's your choice."

"What?" She shrugged helplessly. "At least I didn't say hamburger with cheese."

"Actually you didn't say anything at all." Daphne added helpfully, a tight smile on her lips as she slid into an empty chair on the far side of the table, Parkman behind her, both of them watching her and Sylar intently.

"Fine. Pizza it is; be back within 30minutes... or it's free." Peter disappeared with a feint pop.

"Much more dignified." Claire muttered.

"Hey?" Sylar griped, "I get the job done, it's just a little..." he paused thinking of the word.

"Windy," Claire suggested helpfully, about his favoured mode of transport, "Bumpy?" she added laughing faintly at the growing scowl on his face. She opened her mouth to continue and he deepened the scowl into something that had her shutting it with a snigger. She looked up then, a mistake; her father was staring at their exchange like she had suddenly grown a second head.

"So this is your..." she struggled to find a word, hidey-hole seemed a little unkind. "Resistance?" she settled on, talking to her father from his position across the room. Whatever her feelings he didn't seem to get the hint and slid into the chair across the table from them.

"It's a start Claire." He snapped, and she instantly regretted her hesitation, apparently her thoughts had registered on her face. She hadn't exactly had much human contact in three years, Sylar aside, which she wasn't sure counted.

"I know, I wasn't criticising, I just..." she sighed trailing off. "I'm not very good at this anymore. I haven't really been around people in a while. I'm rusty." She apologised, running hands through her golden hair, a nervous habit she'd only just remembered she had.

"You have nothing to apologise for Claire." Sylar soothed, stealing the words right from her father's still open mouth. "People just need to learn to be less touchy." He turned cocking his head at Noah, the look between them indecipherable to her. The visual punch up was disrupted thankfully by Peter's return and a handy box of still smoking Pizza thrown between them.

"Thanks." Claire smiled thinly up at her Uncle, thanking him for both the food and the interruption silently. She pulled open the box and the smile that spread again was genuine, just the smell of it. Apparently he'd had no idea what she liked, so this seemed to have everything. Peter watched her grab a slice before turning around and handing out boxes to the others. From hero to delivery boy...He spun and stared at her darkly, and she hastily looked back down at her food, whilst Sylar snickered. She punched him hard in the arm, and he shut up, stealing a slice for himself, she really needed to learn to watch what she thought here. The food seemed to bring blessed silence, no one it seemed wanted to interrogate her whilst she was stuffing food into her mouth like a half starved crazy person.

"Clip clop, clip clop." Sylar clucked his tongue like a horse, and caught her eye, she laughed, then coughed, almost choking on a mouthful of cheese and meat. He clapped her hard on the back, muttering an apology that would have seemed more sincere if he hadn't been stifling a laugh of his own. She just glared soundly at him and picked up the last piece, waving it triumphantly.

"Mine." She bared her teeth challenging him. He sat back in his chair, raising his hands behind his head and watching her serenely.

"I'm full anyway." He waved it away, and she rolled her eyes, not believing a word.

"You two seem to be getting along well." Her father spoke, and she jumped, she'd forgotten he was even there; he clearly seemed to have thought along the same lines.

"Oh you know Noah, just happy to be alive, and back with family aren't we Claire." Sylar shot her a cryptic look, that seemed to all be in the eyebrows, but she was clueless as to what he was trying to tell her.

"Well so far I'm just here for the food." Claire replied, dangling the last bit of cheese into position over her mouth. It flew from her hand and disappeared down Sylar's, then he had the nerve to look back at her innocently. "Don't you have business here?" She snapped coolly at him.

"Oh?" Noah raised an eyebrow, watching Sylar shrewdly.

"I came to see Angela. I was hoping she might be able to tell me if the place I plan to stash Claire will be secure enough." The room seemed to go deathly still, and all eyes rounded on Sylar.


	5. The Wrong Kind of Hero

**Title: FUGITIVES - by Devilishlysas83**

**Disclaimer/Claimer: **I don't own Heroes, Sylar, Claire or any of the other characters. I just borrow them to feed my muse from time to time.  
**Rating: **PG-13 to NC-17, for some sexuality and dark themes  
**Fandom: **Heroes  
**Pairing: **Sylar/Claire  
**Spoilers: **AU to Fugitives Season, written in the hiatus after Villains ended. General spoilers for Season 3  
**Word count: **~40,000  
**Author's Note:** Originally written as two fics, the start was Captives, the follow up Fugitives, all posted together in separate chapters.

**Chapter 5: The Wrong Kind of Hero**

"I think you're a little ahead of yourself there." Her father's tone could have cut diamonds. "Claire will be staying here for the foreseeable future. She's safe here, with people that love and care about her." He turned smiling softly at her, behind those same glasses he had stared through at her most of her life.

Something twisted in her gut, and she couldn't help it, reflex maybe, although she had no idea what kind of person you had to be to have reflexes that made you grasp the hand of a serial killer. Her father's face twisted into something pained, but she still couldn't release the now stunned looking Sylar. Had he thought she'd want to stay? Even after their talks...

"Claire." Peter spoke softly, like she was a scared kitten, prone to bolting. "You need to stay here with us, surely you can see that. We have a set up here, channels... a plan." He was searching deeper than just her face; she could tell from the way Sylar's face screwed up with concentration, was he blocking her mind for her?

"Stop blocking her." Peter snapped his eyes fixed on Sylar with such hatred, when had Peter learnt to hate like that?

"She deserves her privacy within her own mind." Sylar grit out between his teeth. "Especially here, amongst so called friends and family. Unless you don't think she's lost enough privacy already?" It was a low blow but it seemed to work, and she let out a breath from shared relief.

"Come on Claire. We'll get you settled, there's a room all set up for you." Her father stood holding out his hand to her and she froze. Deer in the headlights, she was torn between not wanting to hurt her father, and the fear that twisted her heart at the thought of Sylar not being there.

She shook her head slowly, "Dad, I ..." she glanced at Sylar looking for the words as if they were written on his face. "I'm sorry, but, I think I'm going to stay with Sylar." Her father's fist tightened into a ball, and she could see it took every shred of restraint for him not to smash it down into the table top. People seemed to be sidling out of the door, clearly deciding that maybe the coming confrontation was not something they wanted to be part of.

"Claire you're not thinking clearly, I understand that Sylar took you out of that cell, and it must be confusing to you to see him as a rescuer with all that he's put you through. But he is still a killer, a monster. You're not safe with him. You need to be with your family."

Claire frowned. "Family." She mulled the word over, "Like Nathan." The word seemed to freeze every remaining face. "My father." She added helpfully.

"I'm your father." He snapped fury seeming to make the vein bulge in his forehead.

"Still." She added, hardly daring to believe she was saying this. "He is biologically at least my father. Family. Was I safe with him?" she looked down at Sylar's hand, wrapped in her own. "Family doesn't mean as much as it should. Not anymore." She added sadly. "And you're not like us dad." He looked stung, and she couldn't help but continue. "Oh I know you want to help, probably for me, I very much doubt you care about anyone else here, after all you used to lock them up for being dangerous, just like Nathan. I'm sure on some level you even agree with what he's doing."

"That's enough Claire." Sylar snapped at her, tugging at her hand to add emphasis, as if it was needed, she felt like he'd slapped her. "Don't talk to your father that way, you have no idea what he's sacrificed for you. He is one of us, powers or not." She looked away guiltily, not able to meet her father's eyes, stunned that Sylar of all people would defend Noah Bennet.

"You don't think we can protect you." Parkman spoke up suddenly, startling her, and giving her someone else to focus on. "Because we couldn't get through the door." He stepped closer, his head cocked to the side as he rooted around in her mind, apparently Sylar had missed his sudden invasion, because he gave Parkman a dark look. "The door that broke your spirit... because you could do everything humanly possible to escape them, but you couldn't get through the door." He paused his eyes widening. "And Sylar took it apart and walked through like it was nothing, when we had to leave you." Sylar's dark expression cleared, she could almost see the smirk he was no doubt suppressing.

"Yes." Claire nodded slowly. "He makes me feel safe. And I know how that sounds, he's a killer," she turned to look at him and he unleashed the smirk. "a monster." She sighed. "I'm not stupid and I do remember every terrible, awful thing he's done to me and to the people I love." She met her father's eyes, needing him to understand the warped place her mind was now. "But all of it, it's nothing compared to that place, to what they did to me in there. To what they did to people like us. Us." She waved their joined hands. "We're on the same team, as incredible and insane as that seems, we all want the same thing... to reduce that place to ash, and string Nathan up by his damn stars and stripes." That bought a rue smile to her father's face, and for a moment, just a moment she thought she saw the flicker of something in his eyes, but it faded just as quickly.

"And you think Sylar can do all that, and keep you safe." Peter was laughing at her naivety she could see it behind his dark eyes, so like Sylar's. "He doesn't care about you Claire, you're just a tool to him, a bargaining chip. The moment you become a danger to him, he'll cut you lose, or drop you right back in their laps."

Sylar was on his feet in an instant his hand raised, throttling Peter from where he stood. "You know nothing about me!" he yelled back at her now choking Uncle, until he recovered from the shock and threw Sylar off with a blast of cold air. Sylar wasn't giving up he went for the physical approach charging Peter, and knocking him backwards where he proceeded to beat him the old fashioned way. "I went back for her." He roared down at Peter, "Me!" another punch, and she was sure her Uncle was seeing stars, but he took the brief pause to pop out of Sylar's hands and appear on the other side of the room his hands aflame. Sylar stood and glared daggers at him. "I wasn't a part of your little rescue plan, you hadn't even come to me, I was already there, already watching, waiting for the chance to get her out. Just like I had been for the last year and a half. And when you failed..." His words were sharp, and to the point. "When you failed, and went running for the hills, leaving her behind I went in. Me. Alone; and I brought her out."

"Sylar." She stood and pulled his hands down ignoring the electricity that was radiating from them, that burnt her own, until he extinguished them. Her voice was as soft and as calm as she could make it, she knew how volatile he could be. "I know." She raised a hand to his face, remembering the way he had held her, how gentle he had been with her. She trusted him with her life; she had never doubted that from the moment he'd given it back to her in that cell. Then she did something which given the current situation, was probably unwise, but she needed him to trust her like she trusted him. She pulled his head down, even as she rose up on her tiptoes, so that her lips could crash against his. Hesitant his hand rose slowly to brush her cheek, and he pressed a gentle kiss back against her, before pulling away, the rage in his eyes seemed to have dimmed, instead he just looked like he'd been clubbed around the head.

There was no getting around it, Peter looked horrified, all the words, all the sentiment, he would never understand this. He hadn't been through what she had, didn't know that despite all that Sylar was, he cared about one thing... her. She raised her eyes to the only other person that mattered, her father, he looked much like Sylar, slightly dazed. But his back straightened and his mouth set into a grim line as he approached them, the gun still in his hand. Claire stilled as he stopped just in front of them, staring them both down, but his eyes were on Sylar.

"I despise you." He told Sylar plainly, "Despise what you are, what you represent, and the things you've done." He leant forwards, and Sylar did the same, so they were almost nose to nose, both rigid with tension, and the need to tear the other apart. "But my Claire..." her father swallowed, seeming to struggle with the words. "You did save her, and you're right you didn't have to, by all rights you shouldn't have even been there. I saw the tapes before Peter yanked them, you fought for her in that cell, she wouldn't be here without you." He straightened up, giving Sylar some breathing room, and stiffly extended his arm. "I believe you when you say you can protect her... and I even believe that for some warped reason all your own, that you want to." Sylar clasped the outstretched hand, and Claire got the impression both of them would leave with broken fingers. "But you ever let them catch her; you even so much as let them get a look at her, so help me..." Sylar grimaced; clearly his ability to read minds was not always a benefit. "You treat her like glass, am I clear?" IT sounded like her father was giving his permission, but Claire wasn't fooled, this was a stop gap solution for him; one he'd rectify just as soon as he figured out how.

Sylar nodded. "Claire will be safe with me, you have my word." They released hands. "But not here, this is exactly where they expect her to be. With you and Peter, Nathan will follow every lead that takes him to you two. He has no idea I'm even involved. Let's keep it that way."

Her father inclined his head in agreement, apparently not able to bring himself to say another civil word to the man in front of him, but he couldn't take his eyes off her face. He looked heartbroken. She slipped from Sylar's arms, "Go do what you came here for." She told him without needing to see his face as she dismissed him, he was gone in an instant. She expected her father to say something, to yell at her, to hold her. Instead he just slumped, falling into the empty wooden chair, and burying his head in his hands. Claire simply stared.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." She told him softly, not daring to take the seat beside him. "But Sylar... he has something I need right now." His head finally came up and met hers, but his eyes were dry.

"What could you possibly need from that thing?" that stung.

Claire sighed, meeting his hardened eyes. "Revenge." His face softened, and she realised he had misunderstood.

"Against them." She clarified. "He doesn't judge me for the terrible things that are in my head now. He's not afraid of what they made me in that cell, or the choices I made. Can you say the same thing?" His eyes narrowed.

"You could never frighten me Claire, and you could never disappoint me." He told her, and she had no reason to doubt his word, but she did.

"I slept with him." She told him quietly, and Peter stalked from the room, leaving them alone. She looked up at her father's ashen face. "Now tell me I don't!" He seemed speechless.

"Why?" it seemed to be all he could manage, she had hoped he wouldn't be able to meet her eyes, but his were glued to her face, watching for every nuance, every tick. Something that would give away the little girl he had cherished.

"Because I needed to feel something again. I'm dead." She paused letting her words sink into his frown, "Oh my hearts still beating, and it will probably carry on doing that until I decide I can't bear it to anymore, but don't be fooled... I'm dead." She eased into the seat opposite him again, and laid her hands gently palms down on the table, examining them instead of his face.

"When I was with him, I felt something, I don't care how twisted that feeling is, even if it's just hate or disgust, or lust, it doesn't matter. It's something." He was so still she had to check he was still breathing, she spared his rigid form a glance, and noticed the tears splashing against his cheeks, before she hastily looked back down.

"He's always been there, ever since I got my powers, hiding, waiting, watching me. He's been a part of my life for so long now, that it felt so familiar. I hate him, I'm still afraid of him, of what he is, what he can do, and will do. But he buries his monster, at least for a moment when he's with me, and he accepts mine." She sighed it shouldn't be this easy to explain to him, the words shouldn't come so quickly, like she'd planned them.

"I need him, more than I want to, more than I should." She went to take her father's hand and he pulled away, clearly not able to reconcile the two Claire's in his mind yet, or to accept her words. Her voice hardened, as she glared at her father. "I don't love him, I never will, I don't even like him, but this has nothing to do with that. I trust that he wants to keep me safe, because he wants me. Me!" she told him pointedly ignoring his sceptical look, "Not my ability, it's never been about my ability, not from that moment he first failed to kill me. Something in him sees something in me, and he's not wrong... there's darkness inside of me, it's inside of us all. I nearly drowned in mine in that cell."

"Claire if I could have stopped it; got you out I..." her father tried, she raised her hand, cutting him off.

"This isn't about blaming you, or punishing you. I know that Dad, I know how far you would have gone, what you would have sacrificed, and I'm glad you didn't have to." She reached for his hand again and he didn't pull away this time, letting her hand slide into his, as he gripped her fingers firmly.

"He doesn't want me to be like him... he just thinks he does." She told him with absolute certainty. "He wants what he's always wanted, to hold the pretty little butterfly and not have it fly away without him pulling the wings off." There was no mind reading involved, but she knew this, had seen it in his eyes as he held her, _'how do we make love stay'._ "He won't let me become the monster... with him I don't need to be, he's monster enough for us both."

"Claire I just want you to be safe, to be happy." Her father sighed, laying his forehead down against her hand.

"There is no safe, no happy ever after. Not for people like us, maybe one day there will be, but not now, not here. We can just take what we need for now, and hope it's enough." She left him there, no hugs, no goodbyes, that would have been too painful, for them both, she was tempted to do so, just so she could feel it, but it wasn't fair to him. The little girl he'd tried to protect was gone, and he needed to grieve, they both did.

Peter stood beyond the door, in the corridor his eyes midnight pools swirling with so many emotions she had no idea which one he was going to attack her with. He pushed off the wall and simply stared at her.

"The moment," he bit back a remark, "the first moment you decide to come to your senses, to see Sylar for a monster that can only get you killed." He raised his hand stopping her protest, his face twisted in rage and pain. "You call me. It doesn't matter where or when." He slipped her a phone and then stalked away. He paused just before rounding a corner, and their eyes met, and she felt his pain, and welcomed it.

"I should have been your hero Claire, not him." He turned away from her. "I'm sorry." Then he was gone.

"You always were." She told the empty walls.

Claire met Sylar on his way back, his face was like thunder, and for a brief moment she considered the sanity in choosing to stay with a temperamental homicidal maniac. He stalked through the corridor and grasped her by the arm firmly, all but dragging her in the opposite direction, away from Angela.

"What?" Claire asked, unable to keep the panic from her voice, "What did she say?"

Sylar stared at her, and she became acutely aware that whatever was going to come out of his mouth would be a lie... and so he said nothing. It should have irritated her, that he wouldn't tell her what was going on, but just that fact that he let her know there was a problem and instead of lying chose simply to withhold it, was oddly easier to accept.

"We need to leave." He told her sharply leaving her no options.

"Shouldn't we say goodbye, get supplies or something?" she asked, still alarmed at the rate he was dragging her through the complex. They charged past a young boy she knew she'd seen somewhere before, his dark curly hair and intelligent eyes not dimmed by the surroundings.

"No." Sylar snapped, in moments they were flying through the complex, looking like little more than a blur. For a moment Daphne was besides them, but a call from the others had her pulling up, and letting them leave. Claire glanced behind as the jungle retreated into the distance and was swallowed by the darkness of the night. She hadn't realised how long they'd been in there, a whole day seemed to have been swallowed and now she was flying away into the unknown, with Sylar of all people. She became momentarily aware of water, all around them, under them, they were running over water! It was one of those moments where you wished you could slow everything down, or go out of body, just to see it from an observer's perspective. Of course that wasn't going to happen, and then the water was gone, a whole continent left behind. Sylar shifted her, lifting her more securely in his arms so that her head tucked beneath his chin, it was such a protective gesture that she almost wanted him to stop, she didn't want coddling, least of all from him. They stopped and he abruptly dropped her, rather ungraciously onto the floor, with a sharp look that reminded her once more that her thoughts weren't her own.

"Doesn't that grate?" she huffed, picking herself up, barely giving their surroundings a second glance. "How can you stand being inside someone's head, why not just shut it off, I know you can." She told him pointedly remembering both Peter and Parkman required some sort of exerted effort to read thoughts.

Sylar turned away from her and stared out over the landscape that she finally noted, they were on a cliff face, overlooking a sparkling blue ocean.

"Italy." He answered her unspoken question, and she supposed her other one as well. He wanted to be in her head, consequences be damned of that _'Idiot'. _Claire thought as clearly and loudly as she could. She felt him twitch beside her, as if restraining himself from some sort of reaction. Instead he tugged on her hand, pulling her into his arms and holding her in front of him.

"We're in Italy Claire, and it's a spectacular view. Why don't you enjoy it." He pulled her face by her chin a little sharply, so that she had to look forward.

Claire simply watched, and Sylar's arms loosened as her mind fell blissfully blank, until she was wrapped in his arms, and she let her head fall back against his chest. "It's beautiful." She breathed. "I've never been to Europe."

She felt Sylar look down at her, and his hand rose to brush her hair, before easing her more snugly back against him. "I know." His lips brushed her neck and she let him have the illusion for now of the happy couple. They sat on the cliff for several hours; neither of them brave enough to break the companiable silence that had arose as they watched the sun set behind the sea. Compared to the view of her concrete and metal cell it was a true explosion of colour, and it even threatened to touch her cold heart. If she didn't try too hard to think about why she was here that was.


	6. Dark Nights and Darker Souls

**Title: FUGITIVES - by Devilishlysas83**

**Disclaimer/Claimer: **I don't own Heroes, Sylar, Claire or any of the other characters. I just borrow them to feed my muse from time to time.  
**Rating: **PG-13 to NC-17, for some sexuality and dark themes  
**Fandom: **Heroes  
**Pairing: **Sylar/Claire  
**Spoilers: **AU to Fugitives Season, written in the hiatus after Villains ended. General spoilers for Season 3  
**Word count: **~40,000  
**Author's Note:** Originally written as two fics, the start was Captives, the follow up Fugitives, all posted together in separate chapters.

**Chapter 6: Dark Nights and Darker Souls**

"What did Angela tell you?" Claire asked him one last time, as the last of the sun disappeared and the night took hold. Sylar's hand stroked through her hair again, softly, and he held her against his chest for a moment longer, as if expecting their moment to end as soon as he answered.

"Angela's dead."

Claire tensed and he tightened his hold on her.

"Tell me you didn't kill her!" She demanded, barely able to get the words out through her own anger and the sudden unexpected grief; that twisted her cold heart.

"I killed her."

Claire screamed at him, and flailed against his hold, but he held her firm against him whilst she thrashed. "Why!" She wasn't crying, there were no tears, not for the grandmother she hardly new, but the betrayal... she could have almost cried for that.

"Because it's what I am." He spat back, throwing them both back then twisting around so that she was pressed into the cool dry grass, with his weight holding her down, her wrists tightly locked in his grip. "You knew that, you even accepted it Claire, so don't play the innocent little princess card again now." He leaned closer until their noses were almost touching and she had nowhere else to look but into those dark fathomless eyes. "You knew what I was, what I do. I'm a killer Claire; it is the only thing I am truly good at in this whole retched world."

"I know." Claire spat back at him, anger giving her strength, and false bravado. "Just tell me why her, why now? You had the chance before, you didn't kill her then, what changed?"

Sylar waivered, she saw the anger dim in his eyes, and he released his crushing hold on her wrists so that he could run a trembling hand over her cheek, his finger lingering in the crook of her mouth.

"Because she was too far gone to give us anything. Her mind was almost completely fractured, the only thing left, behind the images, was her, screaming." Claire flinched at the imagery it invoked and looked away from the intensity of the gaze above. "She wanted to die Claire. I knew that from the moment I first saw her, but Peter wouldn't look that deep. He was too afraid to find his mother's broken shell."

Claire struggled again, as he attempted to destroy her memories of Peter as well, and he slammed her back down into the ground, hard."I took her ability, I can use it to keep us ahead of danger. Of course it's greatly diminished, my mind hasn't broken into pieces and been wired up to transmit like Angela's, but it should suffice."

"Couldn't you have gotten it without killing her, like the other abilities?"

Sylar didn't smile; there was nothing in his face, just a blankness. "I did take her ability without killing her."

Claire froze, turning her green eyes on the raging storm above her. "Then you killed her anyway."

"Yes."

"Monster!" Claire told him with feeling.

He smirked, "That's a matter of perspective." He added, rolling to the side of her and releasing her hands. She attempted to get up, to roll away, but invisible bonds held her pinned, as he propped himself up on an arm to watch her, his hand resting lightly on her stomach as he traced a circle around her bellybutton over her vest. "I gave Angela peace. My gift much like Peter's requires empathy to take it without killing, something I rarely have for anyone. Angela was an exception to the rule. That woman manipulated me, convinced me utterly she was my mother, and oh how I'd wished she had been, because then I would have made sense. She deserved better Claire, had they ever caught her again she would have been hooked back up and used against us."

"It doesn't make it right." Claire bit off; unable to find a more cohesive argument, Sylar had no reason to lie to her, not now.

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep you out of your father's patriotic little hands; and me of course." He replied with a shrug.

"The others will come after you for this!" she cursed him silently. "Peter will hunt you down and kill you, then what will happen to my supposed protection then!" she snapped, not sure if she was truly worried about losing her protection, or the idea of Sylar dying.

"No he won't." He told her raising his index finger to travel the length of her torso, until he reached her throat, and his thumb brushed her pulse point, causing an involuntary shiver to run through her that only increased his smirk. "Peter's not a killer. It's also what makes him fail when he tries to be the hero. He lacks conviction, he can't kill even those that require it to save a life." His leg raised and slid between hers, so that his front was pressed against her side, giving her no space from him. "Oh he'll try don't get me wrong, but Peter's a good little boy scout, but your Daddy's very persuasive. He won't let Peter do anything foolish that might lead anyone to you. Even if it means letting me get away with murder." He didn't try to kiss her, simply held her with his power, leisurely stroking her, sensing that she'd probably bite him if he tried. Claire fell silent, screaming at him would do no good. He was right in a way, not about killing Angela, she couldn't believe that Peter would have let his mother suffer inside her mind like that if there wasn't hope for her. But he was right in that she had known exactly what she was getting when she let him take her virginity, when she'd taken his hand in that bunker and chosen him over her family, her friends. She'd chosen the monster, because he was one. She couldn't whine about it now. As his hand delved beneath her top she closed her eyes, she had agreed to this, knew what he'd want, demand from her.

His breath hovered above her mouth and she opened her eyes, "I won't demand it Claire." His hands brushed her skin feather light, and she felt her stomach tighten in response. He pressed a kiss into the crook of her mouth. "I won't force you." He breathed, sliding his hard body onto her still pinned form, and she groaned feeling how much he could force her if he wanted. "Tell me to stop." He rasped as his lips latched onto the pulse point of her neck and she cried out arching against him as far as her invisible restraints would allow.

"Stop!" She commanded throwing all the conviction she could behind that single word.

He paused cocking his head above her and examining her face thoroughly. "Your mouth says it." His lips clasped onto her pulse point again and sucked hard, sending a pulse straight between her legs, that tightened her stomach into a ball of anticipation. "But your body," he continued, pinching a nipple between his fingers and causing her to gasp, her toes curling. "It really doesn't want me to."

His lips met hers, furiously, and without mercy he attempted to devour her, she had no choice really, her mouth fought his, and his blood trickled down her throat, but she couldn't stop. Her hands itched to claw at him, to tear at his hair, to make him bleed. He obliged her, the invisible bindings released her and she wasted no time tearing at his arms, the only visible part, until she managed to tear his t-shirt, exposing his chest, and it's light smattering of dark hair. He pulled her hair sharply in response, grunting as she took chunks out of his flesh, but his mouth never released hers, not for an instant, his tongue continued to plunder her, as his hands twisted at her now taut breasts until the pleasure grew so sharp it was almost pain as it crashed over her.

This was why she was here, she couldn't give up this feeling, this was all she had. Sylar's hands tore at her jeans and they were roughly shoved down to her ankles, before he flipped her over, holding her face sideways against the grass. Her clawing hands had nowhere to grasp now, and she had to settle for tearing chunks of grass as Sylar held her pinned. It seemed their first time had been as gentle as their second would be rough.

Strong hands grasped her hips and without pause a finger slid between her legs, Claire cried out, bucking in surprise, he hadn't done this last time, and she hadn't been expecting it now. Slowly his long finger began its torment and she bucked against him, trying to take what she needed, his hand and his power slammed into her back, keeping her still, as his finger continued its steady rhythm. He shifted, swinging his leg to kneel over her, pulling her hips up to his hand with his free one. Another finger slid in and she shuddered at the feeling, as he pulled her hips back to meet his thrusting, curling digits.

Claire was gasping for breath, the knot in her stomach was so tight that she wanted to crawl away, but his rhythm just like before was relentless. Her head was getting light as he manoeuvred her suddenly pliant body until a thumb curled around the front and added to the torture. Her limbs started to shake as she attempted to support her own body weight pushing up against his impossible strength, but his response was swift, he slammed another finger inside and Claire grunted clawing at the grass as he drove her towards oblivion again, inches away, her breath coming in heaving laboured bursts, her body straining, her mind numbing.

He stopped, his hands tore free and he spun her over onto her front pressing his weight against her, his length against her over sensitised centre. But Claire was still reeling from her almost release, her head spinning as her body attempted to slow her reaction.

"Tell me to stop." He insisted, pushing his hardened length against her raging core, that so desperately needed the release he'd promised only moments ago. Claire clutched her head with her hands, trying to calm, trying to take control. He disappeared from above her and she cried out as his lips descended over her. His tongue flicked inside and she was almost sobbing, he was tormenting her, the only way possible for her now. Her back arched up and she felt a shiver run from her toes all along her spine to the base of her brain, she felt the tingle of the electricity in his fingers, as he brought her back to the brink again, his mouth forcing sounds from her she wasn't aware she could make.

He stopped just as her head was about to be thrown back, a scream still on her lips. His dark eyes, absolutely black now, gazed down at her with such intent that she had no voice. "Tell me you don't want this." he pressed himself against her once more, slipping inside to the barest degree and holding. Claire felt the tears slip down her cheeks then, warm, salty tears, she'd thought she'd lost the ability to cry in that cell, but here on a cliff top overlooking the ocean in Italy, Sylar was reducing her to tears.

"I can't." She sobbed, trying to turn her head away in shame, but he caught her chin, forcing her eyes back to his.

"It's not weakness to need something, someone Claire." He breathed, pressing a kiss to her lips, there was no fight left in her, and the kiss was so gentle, had her heart not been already broken she suspected it would have shattered then.

"I need you." He admitted, before rolling them sharply so that she was on top. Momentarily stunned, she simply lay there staring at him, wrapped in his arms. "Take what you need Claire, and never be sorry for it. Never regret it." He ordered her and released his invisible hold, grasping her by the waist as she sat up instead.

Claire stared down at him, as he gazed up at her, patient even now it seemed, content to simply wait beneath her, his hands stroking her hips and lower back soothingly. He had given her control, not a concept she imagined came easy to him. She could get up and leave... turning her head she glanced outwards, in the darkness, to where they had sat for hours, watching the sun fade. She didn't want to leave.

Looking back down at him, she leant forward and pressed a lingering kiss to his mouth, as she slid over him. He didn't push, not this time, this time it was all her, as she slid down over him, pushing against the resistance once more that gave way to him. Sylar's hands held her for guidance nothing more as she moved, keeping their eyes locked. It was different to watch him this way, to see how his brow tightened with each movement she made, and how his teeth bit down against his lower lip as she clenched tightly around him. He was trying to be quiet, but his grunts grew steadily more intense as she kept up her slow torturous rhythm above him, until he was breathing heavily, and his dark eyes were almost rolling back in his head.

But there was hardly time to gloat, her own orgasm was growing steadily and powerfully with each downwards thrust she made and her rhythm was faltering, along with her strength. Sylar's fingers clutched tighter digging into the skin on her hips, and she felt his own hips twitching beneath her, as he attempted to restrain himself from taking control. But control was fleeing her, and she slammed down against him, unable to keep her rhythm as his hips met hers, frantically, his hands pulling her harder, so that he went deeper, she gasped feeling him brush her womb, again and again. All sense of rhythm left her as her body seemed to liquefy she screamed in release, content in their isolation here.

Her body trembling and aching with her own release, she fell against his chest, without waiting he flipped her onto her back. Sylar's thrusts grew frantic, now that he had free reign, and she closed her eyes, as he strived for his own release, bringing her back to the edge with him, his hand went between them and pressed the spot that made her breath hitch as he rubbed in time with his thrusts. Claire opened her eyes in time to see the look of ecstasy spread over his face as he gasped her name, spilling inside of her, whilst his fingers pushed her over one last time, until she closed her eyes, boneless and exhausted.

He had picked her up wordlessly soon after, pulling her jeans back over her hips with almost practiced ease, and straightening the top that had miraculously remained intact. Exhaustion had faded now but something deeper had set in and Claire was content to let him deal with it all. When they reached their destination she was mildly impressed, keeping it to herself, of course, if that was even possible with a mind reader. But clearly he had taken her plea for a nicer hide out seriously. He lifted her more securely into his arms and very deliberately carried her over the threshold, to which she refused to comment; instead he just smirked, looking deeply satisfied with himself as he twirled her around to take in the view. It was a beautiful stone villa, and she could smell the ocean, so she was certain that come sunrise there would be a view to die for.

"A rich business man's summer home... only he hasn't been here for the past 5 years. He rents it out occasionally."

"Are we renting then?" Claire asked hopefully.

"No." Sylar's short reply reminded her once more who he was, and their situation. Nothing normal for the fugitives.

"Squatters then." Claire surmised.

"Rather here than a hundred other places I could have taken you." Sylar shrugged. "Besides, I've had my eye on this place for a while, even popped by a few times to check on it. It's secure." He let her down and she moved around the villa examining the decor with mild admiration, it was all tastefully arranged to give an old world flavour, without looking too over done. Charming was the word she'd have chosen as she fell into the large caramel coloured sofa. "No neighbours for miles." Sylar continued, taking in the room himself, "and given as our businessman wasn't the friendly sort, they won't be dropping by for unexpected visits."

"I don't see how this place will keep us safe from Molly's tracking ability though." Claire pointed out, as he slid into the armchair opposite.

"Molly can't track me again." He added calmly. "And where she looks for you she will find me... and she'll stop." Claire frowned, not liking that tone again.

"How?"

"Parkman spends too much time scanning the minds around him, to focus on closing his own." Sylar added a little snidely, apparently the formerly pudgy detective didn't have Sylar's respect. "Molly had problems with a nightmare man... Parkman's own daddy, he was just like his son, able to manipulate minds, read thoughts. She was too afraid to look, because he could trap her there." Claire leant forward, ready for an argument when he waved her concern away. "He only chose to do that, he found it more fun to torment her. But the principle is sound; I can block her using Parkman's ability, and I'm fairly certain I can block you, Peter and Parkman were standing three feet from you the other day and they couldn't get into your mind."

"You found all this out from that brief stopover we had?"

Sylar grinned, "Yes, whilst you were eating the contents of Little Italy, I was listening." Claire stared, unable to conceal how impressed she was, he grinned baring his teeth at her, his eyes sparking with amusement in response.

"What else did you find out?" she probed lightly.

Sylar slid across to the sofa, and lifted her outstretched legs replacing them on his lap, and slipping her shoes off her feet as he went, taking them in his hands. "All sorts of dirty little secrets." He sent her a sideways look, as if daring her to ask. "Peter really is a very confused boy scout." That got her attention and she stilled, as his hands worked the balls of her feet, his eyes fixed on her face.

"Infatuated I think would be the right way to put it." He added helpfully. "Doesn't know what to do with himself when he sees you. His little niece..." Sylar's eyes darkened and his fingers slid up her calves.

"He hates that word, niece." Claire felt her gut churning, she knew where he would go with this, and she couldn't deny that she herself had not felt something similarly confusing not so long ago for her hero.

"First impressions really are a devil to forget aren't they?" Sylar pressed, his hands increasing their pressure on her feet and she had to fight not to moan. "He liked that pretty little cheerleading outfit you wore... and that moment in the cell when you came in to him, to tell him he was your hero," Sylar's grin twisted up and she felt her stomach plummet. "He still dreams about you, in that outfit, about doing things to you, his pretty little niece, that he shouldn't."

Claire kicked her feet out of his grasp and stood up, shooting him a disgusted look as she went. But there was no point in calling him a liar, she knew he wasn't lying, she wasn't blind or stupid, Peter and she had always had a strained relationship given their newly acquired family history and the way they had met. But still having Sylar sit there and reveal it so blatantly, made her feel dirty. She knew why, jealousy. He hated that she cared about Peter, the only other person on the planet she might have been safe with.

"You wouldn't have been you know." Sylar told her, his arms stretched over the back of the couch as he watched her intently. "I told you, he lacks that killer instinct. Would you rather be with the hero that hesitates to pull the trigger the day they come calling?" he asked coolly, pointing his finger at the empty fireplace and causing a ball of flame to leap from his hand and set it ablaze. "Or me?" He stood crossing to her in seconds and cradling the back of her head as he kissed her deeply.

"I'll tear them to pieces just for looking at you long before they pull their guns." It shouldn't have been a winning argument, not really she mused as she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss. But it was.


	7. Lap of Luxury

**Title: FUGITIVES - by Devilishlysas83**

**Disclaimer/Claimer: **I don't own Heroes, Sylar, Claire or any of the other characters. I just borrow them to feed my muse from time to time.  
**Rating: **PG-13 to NC-17, for some sexuality and dark themes  
**Fandom: **Heroes  
**Pairing: **Sylar/Claire  
**Spoilers: **AU to Fugitives Season, written in the hiatus after Villains ended. General spoilers for Season 3  
**Word count: **~40,000  
**Author's Note:** Originally written as two fics, the start was Captives, the follow up Fugitives, all posted together in separate chapters.

**Chapter 7: Lap of Luxury**

Sylar slept deeply, it was something she learnt about him during their extended stay in the villa. He had attempted on more than one occasion to keep her in the bed with him. Tonight was no exception she mused as she moved his arms from around her and slipped out of the bed, he rolled over instantly into her spot, his arms out, as if reaching for her; he did that a lot too. As far as she knew she had never once made an advance on him, never once instigated anything between them, and that was something she was relatively proud of. Well except for those times in the bunker when she had reached for his hand and that single brushed kiss, but that had been an unusual circumstance and she had been confused, afraid.

Claire stood staring down at him, and he breathed her name, the small smile on his face revealing more than he ever could awake. He'd tried to stay awake, to conquer sleep, just like her, but it was always futile, he'd managed three days before he'd collapsed asleep in the arm chair, and he hadn't tried again. Not that she was complaining, his grouchiness had exploded those three days, not to mention she quite liked the quiet time the night afforded her now. It was draining to have someone watching you inside and out every moment of every day.

Quietly she moved away from the bed and stalked into the living room, nine weeks almost now, nine weeks of bliss, well as close to bliss as was possible with Sylar, but then her standards weren't high anymore. Picking up the remote she turned on the TV and lowered the volume and slid onto the edge of the sofa. She'd avoided the TV since they'd arrived, and had left the room whenever he'd turned it on. Perhaps not the most mature response, but after that performance of Nathan's last time she was still sickened by it. But hiding only got you so far, and she needed to know what was happening in the world. Surely the world had forgotten about the Senator's daughter.

The news cast flickered on and she felt her fingers grip the remote vice like, Nathan was everywhere, his face, all over the campaign slogans, 'Petrelli for President'. The news casters were detailing his campaign, had it already been four years? So that little miracle cure, and the afflicted miracle child bit hadn't just been a sympathy vote it had been a campaign position. _'Petrelli for a brighter tomorrow.' _Bile rose and she felt tears spring into her eyes, she whipped her hand up, catching them and staring in surprise as they continued to fall. _'Petrelli for a safer world.'_

Then his campaign moved onto the search for his daughter, her picture, another one no doubt stolen from the abandoned house in Costa Verda, followed by one of her and Nathan, together, embracing a rare picture of the two of them Peter had snapped at Angela's New York mansion. There were leads of course, the Mexican desert ambush was replayed, they even had a still of a blur rushing from the house at super speed. But all they could make out was a dark blur. Then came the news she'd been dreading, their tally on how many of these dangerous 'terrorists' had been captured and rehabilitated.

Even a piece on a good old fashioned hanging in San Diago of a local boy that could fly. Claire's heart pounded as the picture from a hand held camera in the crowd zoomed in on the face, and the tears stopped, her face set and her body trembled so violently that she dropped the remote. The news caster and the local police continued on, like the world hadn't just fallen apart, about not taking matters into your own hands, how people with abilities were dangerous and needed special training to deal with. But it didn't matter, none of their words, West was dead.

Those words resonated through her, sweet, scared West, who wouldn't have harmed a fly, who'd told her he'd never wanted to see her hurt, that he'd always catch her when she fell. Her first love, the boy she'd defied her father for, who's only crime was the ability to fly, an ability shared by the noble and great Nathan Petrelli. Cold rage flooded her and she stared mutely at the atrocities the TV presented her with. The campaign trail of a monster, his crimes splashed on the front page, rejoiced instead of reviled. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, and it couldn't be allowed to happen. Nathan would win by a landslide; even his competition seemed half hearted about it, as if sensing the winds of change, there was no mudslinging, just polite deference. Another three months and Nathan would have his office, his power, and the ability to hunt them all down and lock them away.

In some ways, back in that cell she had almost seen things his way, usually during the daylight hours when her tubes had been removed, and they took her on a tour of the inmates. And some were monsters, there was no getting around it, oh he'd liked to point those out to her. To remind her that all those times that Peter, or Hiro, or he himself, every time they'd had to save the world... what had they saved it from? Us, people with powers, Sylar, Peter, Hiro all of them had doomed us at one point, Angela and Arthur, the Company, all abusing powers and almost dooming the world. We would be safer in a world without powers he'd promised. One or two good in a batch of rotten eggs wasn't worth saving. Human nature wasn't bankable, it couldn't be trusted, we couldn't be trusted with power.

She couldn't agree more with him, had she Sylar's abilities, or Peter's, Hiro's anyone other than hers, she would have charged right up to him and stuck a blade through his heart, she'd reverse time, and help Peter shoot him that day at the press conference, add another shot straight through his forehead. Had she the power, she'd reduce his precious White House to rubble. Nathan was absolutely right, people with abilities couldn't be trusted, would abuse their power; and he was case and point.

The TV clicked off and she spun around, Sylar lowered his hand and stared at her, still half asleep, his dark hair tousled, and his chest and feet bare beneath his black slacks.

"You shouldn't watch TV. It'll rot your brain."

Claire just turned away from him, not needing his particular brand of humour right now.

"They killed West." She told him quietly. He was still a moment, and she felt his mind brush hers, something he was getting better at, letting her know when he was looking.

"I'm sorry." He replied finally, clearly finding what he needed to associate with the name.

"And Nathan's going to be President, it's just a matter of time." She hurled the remote at the TV with enough force to smash it, had it reached, Sylar plucked it from mid air and snapped it to his own hand instead.

"You break it you buy it." He shrugged, placing the remote carefully down on the table beside him, "Besides, I like baseball."

"Don't you have anything to say about it?" Claire spun on him, to find he hadn't moved, just folded his arms and leant against the wall, which only added to his dark profile in the low lamp light, his chest muscles pulling with relaxed ease. She spared him a glance before turning away, if he caught her looking he tended to take it as an invitation.

"Nathan," he'd stopped calling him 'your father' at least now she noted, grateful for small mercies, "has been angling for the Presidency for the past two years. Ever since people stopped believing the current government was taking a strong enough line on the problem of 'abilities'." Sylar sighed. "They're sheep Claire, and Nathan's a wolf dressed just like them. In any other situation I'd admire it. He's everything they think they need, a strong proud god fearing man to lead the country, and the world through this crisis. He'll win, and people like us will pay the price."

He crossed to her, and she refused to acknowledge him, even as his hands slid over her shoulders. "Why do you think your father, Peter and the others formed an underground movement three years ago, they have done everything they can to not only keep people like us safe, but to destabilise Nathan's power. Unsuccessfully."

"We can't let him win." Claire managed to spit out.

"He already has Claire. The moment he told the world about us, and painted us as villains, freaks, unstable monsters running around with more power in their little fingers than the entire US army; he won. There is no fight to be had. We lost before we even knew there was a war. Public opinion will never swing back our way, because he's not wrong. We are stronger, faster, better. But we're in the minority. Even if the president of the United States, is one of us, if he can't... won't come out and say what he is, then we've lost."

"Then we should reveal him, show the world that he's just as much a freak as the rest of us!"

"It's been tried." Sylar replied, shifting her hair so that he could stroke her neck. "Someone like us got to him, super strength, he barrelled in, I think he was working for Bennett. Tossed Nathan into the air like a rag doll, guess they hoped that he'd fly himself to safety, save himself that way." Claire shifted so she could see his face, this wasn't a story she knew.

"I take it he didn't?"

"No. Nathan was stronger than we gave him credit for, and smarter. He took the fall, slowed it enough I think with his ability so that he didn't die, but he snapped his leg, cracked eight ribs, fairly severe concussion. Was in traction for a while with that leg, then he disappeared from the public eye. Came back fit as a fiddle."

"That bastard took my blood." Claire realised, the same blood she'd once offered to use to save him when he'd been shot, only now she'd rather he'd choked on it. "Then we should just kill him. I don't care what protection he's got you could get through it all."

Sylar's hands stilled against her shoulders, and she could almost feel the tension coming off him in waves. "That wouldn't help." He told her finally. It was her turn to look stunned.

"Since when do you care about killing people?" Claire slipped out of his hands and stood, facing him off from the other side of the couch, her hands on her hips. He merely crossed his arms again and stared at her.

"I don't Claire. But I'm not stupid. I have a knack for understanding things. And killing Nathan wouldn't help. It would only make things worse. Better the devil you know."

Claire frowned. "Nathan started all this, it's his fault. He should pay!" Claire was trying very hard not to shout, but she was failing as her voice rose an octave.

Apparently that approach had little effect on Sylar, his brow just lowered and his eyes darkened, but he was otherwise unmoved. "Yes, and if he dies, particularly at the hands of someone like us, we'll just make him a martyr. Someone else will come in take his place; and that someone will probably use his death as a quest for vengeance. If it's bad now, imagine what it would be like if everyone was tested, everywhere, every person tagged, located. It would be an excuse finally to hunt us all down, to test the general population. Mass executions Claire! Human's kill what they can't control, it's just their nature."

"It won't be like that, people won't let that happen." Claire pleaded, not even believing her own argument.

"Of course it would. Nathan hasn't ordered mass executions, he has tried to hide us away, to test us, find a use. One push, one shove, and that scale will tip, with Nathan in control it's more likely to stay balanced. Maybe people will even come to accept that not everyone with abilities is a threat, maybe they'll bring in a scale, like the companies, have levels of abilities."

Claire frowned, eying Sylar, he'd thought about this way too much, planned for it.

"No. Your father has, along with Peter and the others. Peter's drawings help of course, and Angela's visions." That realisation stunned her. Of course they would have, they'd had three years to decide what to do, to watch.

"So this is their plan. Wait until we are all bagged, tagged and labelled non-hazardous. What about the ones that are considered dangerous... what happens to them?" Claire demanded, righteous indignation filling her for the first time since he'd taken her from that cell.

"Same thing that's been happening behind closed doors for 80 years. They are bagged, tagged and locked away for the good of the rest of humanity."

Claire was speechless, had the Company really been any different to Nathan's Division? Surely they'd really only gone after people that had used their abilities to hurt others, to break laws. To bring them to justice in a world that wasn't equipped to deal with them.

"Nathan's way is just more efficient. Bag and tag 'em all, sort it out later." Sylar noted with that calm logic that made her want to throttle him.

"Do you actually agree with him? You do realise that in this new world order you'd never see the light of day again, if they didn't kill you on sight. You were a serial killer, powers or not, they'll want to see you fry."

Sylar grinned. "Exactly. Life hasn't really changed all that much for me." Her mouth opened and closed again, she had nothing to say to that. He'd been manipulated by the company, used, locked away, experimented on, and then Nathan had got hold and done the exact same thing. It was only people like her, honest, normal people, who had never committed a crime in their lives that would suffer. The villains, the people that Nathan really wanted to catch would lose nothing that they hadn't already.

"You're not all that innocent Claire." Sylar chided her coolly, still choosing to remain a safe distance from her, the couch between them. She raised an indignant eyebrow. "What about Brody?" Claire frowned at the name, her memory not immediately making the connection, so he jogged her memory. "Car crash." He added helpfully, and the memory reformed, fresh as the day it had been made. She blanched, had she really done that? Driven a boy almost to his death! "In your defence he had killed you." Sylar continued. "But then leaving him paralysed for life was perhaps a little harsh. Then there was the cheerleader you set up." He continued, "Poor girl never recovered her reputation after those drunken allegations, lost all her college applications, and that scholarship she had lined up. I hear she's a waitress now." Sylar smirked, "And why? What heinous crime had she committed? Oh yes, she was a bitch and wouldn't let you on the cheerleading squad."

"That's enough." Claire snapped, as the memories returned, linking and awaking new ones.

"And that poor man, Steven Cranfield, all he wanted was to be normal, not have vortexes opening up all over the place, swallowing his neighbours every time he lost his temper... then Claire Bennet found him, where is he now?" _'DEAD!' _the word rang in her mind with horrifying clarity. "And West."

"Don't." Claire bit off sharply. "Don't you dare! What happened to West wasn't my fault."

"No. I'm sure encouraging him to fly in public, to show him that there were other people like him, to humanise the face of the company, by making it your father, had nothing to do with him taking chances and getting caught." Sylar was relentless and the attack was so out of the blue that she was momentarily stunned.

"You're not sweet and innocent Claire. You never were. You have a vicious streak that I saw the first moment we met. So don't try and fool yourself. Your power is relatively benign; it can't hurt others at least not easily. But had you been born with say your mothers gift?" he let the sentence hang in the air. It was so reminiscent of what she herself had been thinking not long ago that she had to sit down. If she had an offensive power something she could have used, she'd have used it long before now to hurt someone, or would have probably accidentally done so.

"So Nathan's right then?" Claire looked up to the face of the monster that wouldn't let her forget what he was. "We're all a danger. Because we're human, and humans always abuse power."

Sylar shrugged. "I tried to commit suicide when I realised what I was. Your father and Elle stopped me, because they wanted to use me, find out what made me 'tick'." He crossed to sit opposite her, looking suddenly very tired. "I was innocent. My power was monstrous, but I wasn't. Not yet, not then. And I made the right choice, to try and stop the only way possible. I tried, after that, everything I am, everything I've done, can no longer be blamed solely on me. I was made a monster by those without abilities." He rubbed his eyes wearily, and closed them lying his head back against the chair. "We are all what we are made; it doesn't matter if it's a person, an event or society itself."

"So we should what, give up?" Claire asked him, unable to believe Sylar would just sit there and accept that.

"Why not? It will blow over eventually, probably when half the world turns out to be like us. All we have to do is wait. It's not like you and I are going anywhere." Sylar opened one eye and peered at her blearily. "Can't this conversation wait until morning? Some of us need sleep." He muttered closing it again, clearly ignoring her horror at the suggestion.

"You really do only care about yourself don't you?" She added sharply.

"No. I care about myself and you. That's two." He pointed out not bothering to open his eyes again.

Claire stormed over to the table where she'd stashed the mobile phone Peter had given her for emergencies. "I'm calling Peter to come get me." The words had barely left her mouth yet Sylar was there in front of her the phone in his hand as he shook his head at her.

"I can't let you do that Claire."

Claire eyed him darkly. "I'm not a prisoner here Sylar, and you are not my jailer, I'm leaving. I was wrong; we don't want the same thing. Not even close. " She attempted to swipe the phone but he simply held it out of her reach, his eyes darkening once more, letting her know what was coming.

"Fine." He snapped and threw the phone, she caught it deftly and looked up to find him watching her with an amused expression.

"Just like that?" It was unwise to press her luck, but his sudden about face whilst not entirely out of character was still unsettling.

"Call Peter. Tell him to come rescue you from big bad Sylar. But please, tell him what I did. Because when he gets here he'll know anyway, and it will save the poor boy the trip." Claire frowned, but deciding he was trying to call her bluff, she dialled.

It didn't take long for Peter to answer, his voice so comforting to her now, "Claire?"

"Peter, please I need you. I can't stay here with him." She opened her mouth to say more, to explain, but he cut her off.

"Where?" he all but snarled down the phone, she wondered if he could read minds over the phone, but assumed that was probably beyond him, especially given Sylar's earlier comments.

"Italy, the island of Capri. A villa on the North western side of the island, I don't know where, we're along a coastal path, isolated."

"I'll find you." He promised and the phone went dead. She held the phone, staring at it as if expecting it to give her answers. Sylar shook his head, and sidled back to his chair, collapsing into it. Claire pulled her thin robe around her tighter, and waited. Sylar's inaction was more unsettling than anything else.

"You should have told him the reason Claire. He'll charge in here, all righteous indignation, we'll fight, he'll probably get hurt. Then he'll realise why..." he waved his hand as if dismissing it. "But why explain here he comes. Your oh so precious Knight."

Peter swept into the villa, landing firmly in the centre of the stone room, his hair wind blown and wild, but not as wild as his eyes. He crossed to her in seconds, taking her arms and pulling her close against his chest. "I'm here." He breathed against her hair, "What did he do?" he held her face, searching her mind for the answers.

"Yes Claire what did I do?" Sylar quipped, still not getting up from his armchair as he watched Peter's whirlwind entrance.

Peter frowned, his eyes darting from her, then back to Sylar. He released her, his frown deepening. Slowly Claire watched him turn to Sylar, looking at him appraisingly, Sylar made no move to stop him. "Sylar's right."

Claire's world fell out from under her and she stumbled away from both of them, backing away as far as the wall would let her. "What!" she all but screeched at him. "Peter, how can you say that... you!"

Peter turned to look at her, keeping his front to Sylar at all times, circling the other man's chair like he was a chained tiger. But his words were for Sylar when he spoke. "You shouldn't have let her see the news."

Sylar tilted his head looking exasperated. "Like that would work. I won't hide things from her; I just misjudged her state of apathy."

"You thought she wouldn't care." Peter sneered back at him. "She's not like you in case you forgot."

"Apparently." Sylar conceded. "Either way, she will get herself captured and the rest of us killed."

"Yes." Peter nodded uneasily, turning finally back to her. "I'm sorry Claire. But we can't let you jeopardise our plans, they can't catch you again and Nathan can't be executed, not by one of us." He stepped towards her and she stepped away, not recognising him anymore. "You need to stay here," he pinched his mouth tight, seeming to swallow whatever he was going to say, "with Sylar."

"You were the one who told me to call you the moment he showed his true colours, the moment I needed you!" Claire managed to grit out, fury making everything seem very far away.

"Now I'm telling you to stay." He snapped.

Claire winced, she couldn't... wouldn't! "That's it, just stay here, be Sylar's little sex slave until the war ends, wait until everyone'd died of old age, forgotten us entirely?" It was a low blow, and she could see that it had connected. Peter's fists clenched and the vein on his forehead bulged, his eyes diverted to Sylar for a moment, and some unspoken communication seemed to flow between them.

"That won't work Claire." Peter grit out past his teeth, his back rigid. "You're staying." He turned to Sylar. "Keep her here, keep her safe." Claire had one last shot, as he turned to fly out of her life, so she brought every image of her and Sylar together and let them swim through her mind. Focusing on her ignored _'stop'_ that night on the cliff top, on his hands pinning her wrists, on his rough fingers driving into her. The times he'd pulled her into the bed here, using her weakness, her need to feel to take advantage. On the words he'd rasped as he recanted their entire history the first time he'd taken her virginity. Then on the way he'd told her he'd killed Angela. All of it she let it play in her mind, knowing Peter would be listening. He stopped, still as a statue, his hands rigid beside him as he continued to face the window. Now Sylar stood, and she caught his eye, he raised an eyebrow at her, was that disappointment on his face?

"Hurts doesn't it?" Sylar bit off at Peter's back. "She's hurling everything she has at you, trying to shock you, trying to make you think I forced her, that I hurt her, manipulated her. But she's no good at it, not like you and I, she can't hide the intent, the emotion. All you can feel is how much she wants me each time, wants it, enjoys it. How twisted her desires are, it makes you sick that her father, your brother, turned her into that." Peter didn't turn around but fire burst from his hands, barely contained. "That the best place for her is with me." Peter was shaking with rage, and Claire's mind went numb, _'what was she thinking, did she really want them to try and kill each other?' _ "Go home boy scout. I'll put the little broken doll back together before the king's men get here."

Peter turned his head, and Claire realised his eyes were as red as his hands, "One day, you and I will deal with this."

Sylar grinned, "Count on it."

Then Peter was gone, Claire tore after him towards the balcony, "NO!" she screamed after him, "Please don't leave me here!" But of course there was no answer, and her hero didn't swoop back in to save her this time. There was only Sylar. She turned slowly to face him, he looked thunderous, more dangerous than she had ever seen him, practically quivering with rage. But he didn't stalk towards her, didn't raise a hand. He just stared at her levelly.

"I won't touch you again." The words dripped acid, as he stalked towards her, each pace measured for menace. Until he was inches away, towering over her on the balcony the cool wind whipping against them. "You will have to beg." He promised his eyes like midnight pools that made her stomach squirm with the memory of those eyes studying her exposed brain, as she lay dying.

"I'll never beg, not for you."

Sylar's cold grin sliced her, "Of course you will, because suffering is the only way you know how to live. You'll crawl into my arms and beg me to make you feel something again." He leaned forward then, his lips hovering over hers, making them buzz, "and maybe I'll oblige you." He spun away then, stalking back to the bedroom, "maybe." He added carelessly over his shoulder, before slamming the door behind him leaving her to her misery.


	8. Dancing with Monsters

**Title: FUGITIVES - by Devilishlysas83**

**Disclaimer/Claimer: **I don't own Heroes, Sylar, Claire or any of the other characters. I just borrow them to feed my muse from time to time.  
**Rating: **PG-13 to NC-17, for some sexuality and dark themes  
**Fandom: **Heroes  
**Pairing: **Sylar/Claire  
**Spoilers: **AU to Fugitives Season, written in the hiatus after Villains ended. General spoilers for Season 3  
**Word count: **~40,000  
**Author's Note:** Originally written as two fics, the start was Captives, the follow up Fugitives, all posted together in separate chapters.

**Chapter 8: Dancing with Monsters**

Claire didn't speak to Sylar again, he seemed perfectly happy with that arrangement. Instead she spent her time surfing the net on the business man's computer, which Sylar had so thoughtfully hacked. The internet was a source for everything she needed, granted she had nowhere near Sylar's skill, but she could still find old building plans, schedules, public appearances. It was odd, she was stalking a man that claimed to be her father via the internet, when if she wanted him, all she would need to do was leave the villa, walk in to town and wait for them to come running. If she wanted.

That was the day she left the villa, there was no intent to get into town, just to leave, and the cliff had offered the best opportunity, so she had jumped. The impact with the water snapped her wrist, and almost knocked her out cold, not that it slowed her for long, but still... Claire swam, aiming her infallible body out into the sea and simply starting. Her arms never tired, the muscles never weakened, and her breathing hardly wavered, she could have swum forever. She would have, but for Sylar.

In fairness she was surprised she'd gotten as far as the cliff at all, let alone the 5 hour swim out into deep ocean. All the vast ocean and he'd found her, and by the looks of him, he'd only just woken up to find her gone, his bare chest shining in the first rays of sunlight with the water. There had been no words between them, she was still refusing to speak to him, and clearly he had nothing to say. He merely grabbed her by the waist, slung her over his shoulder and zipped back to the villa, depositing her heavily on the sofa with a scowl, before leaving her alone. She'd achieved nothing.

After that it took several days of musing before she decided on a course of action. There was no way she could just sit here, until the whole 'Division' died of old age, and forgot they even existed, and she couldn't let Nathan escape punishment for his crimes. So Claire planned the only thing she could, a jail break, there was nowhere she could run, she wasn't fast enough, and no way to plan around a mind reader. All she had was impulse, and impulse decisions. She took it, in the early hours of the morning with Sylar still fast asleep she ran from the villa. Heading not for the coast, or the trees; instead for the road. If Sylar and Peter wouldn't take her to the fight, she'd bring the fight to her.

It was madness, even as she flew running flat out, her body not even protesting, she knew that. To run from safety, she was signing her own death warrant, because she would die in that cell, she wouldn't survive it a second time. Just the thought of that tube piercing her heart again, of that semi-conscious state she would be forced into, it made her hands shake and her breathing falter. But to not act, to sit there was almost as bad, what was the point in being out of the cell if she still couldn't live.

It was early, the sun was only just coming up, but there would be people, a coastal village like this she was sure of it. Someone there would have seen the news, her face would be everywhere, they would see her, and they'd call Nathan. Of course her doting father would want to retrieve her himself, he'd come. The gun resting in the waist band of her jeans jostled as she ran, reminding her of her plan. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that she could pull the trigger, Nathan had betrayed her, caused her suffering far beyond any physical pain, he had made her want to die.

The steep path caught her unawares and she stumbled, rolling hard across the stone and grass, of course there was no damage, but there was a spectacular rip in the knee of her jeans, that was tinged with blood from her now non-existent injury. It would just add to the effect when she barrelled into town, having 'escaped' her captors...she was sure Nathan would appreciate the effort to validate his claims.

Even running flat out it took her over 30minutes to reach civilisation, in her old life she would have been impressed at her stamina, now it was just a reminder of who and what she was. Perhaps she should have taken more time to learn Italian during her nights, she had promised herself she would use the extra time for something more useful than simply brooding... only as always time seemed to escape her. She charged down the hill, skidding to a halt in a little village, one that seemed to be still fast asleep.

Sylar slept deeply, but he woke early, he would be up soon, if he woke up before she could get the word out it would be over. With nothing else for it Claire ran to the nearest door and starting banging on it, shouting at the top of her lungs for help. Of course help materialised. Pretty blonde girls screaming for help always had that effect, no matter what country, except for maybe in LA. Doors flew open all around her, sharp Italian was flung her way from all directions. She focused in on an old woman who looked the most distraught to find a young girl screaming for help in the early hours.

"Please please help me." Claire focused those big green eyes of hers, knowing the effect her face could have, rimmed with golden hair. There was nothing she wouldn't use to make this work. "My name is Claire, my father is Nathan Petrelli, I've been kidnapped, please you have to let me use a phone." More sharp Italian, a young boy ran off towards a growing crowd, shouting in Italian, until others appeared, the elderly woman grasped her arms and stared long and hard at her, before she reached up and brushed a sun beaten hand against her cheek.

"Angel." She whispered, tears forming in her eyes, Claire was momentarily stunned, she had expected it, expected them to be kind, to help. But this? Complete adoration, awe, hope, shining from this withered, sun baked old woman, it was almost enough to have her running back up the hill to the cool crystal logic of the serial killer. More people appeared, more that wanted to touch her, to stare at her.

"Please I need a phone. I have to call my father. The man that took me will be coming...!" A young man, barely out of his twenties shoved his hand into his back pocket, before bringing out the treasured mobile phone and handing it to her reverently. His eyes never leaving her face as he did so.

"You're Claire." A young girl not much older than seventeen breathed; the complete shock in her voice so genuine that Claire paused.

"Yes."

"Your face is all over the TV." Her English was perfect, even the accent was barely registering.

"Yes." What else could she say.

"I'm sick." Claire blinked, not following. "They say you're a miracle, that you can cure the sick!" A sinking feeling settled into Claire's stomach.

"There's a man, he's coming after me, I don't have long. He is a monster, he will kill all of you, and he'll drag me away again. I have to make this call." She was pleading, trying to make them understand.

"Cancer." The girl continued as if she hadn't heard her, "They say it's inoperable."

Claire started punching in numbers, trying not to look at the girl. She didn't know Nathan's number, but calling the operator and asking for the American police, or Nathan Petrelli's office, seemed like a plan. She waited whilst the dial tone connected and glanced back up at the anxious faces, and the hope that seemed to shine out of them, fixed solely on her. "Get a needle and syringe." She instructed the young girl, who didn't need to be told twice, she was already running. The operator connected, "I need Senator Petrelli's office, department."

"Can I ask the nature of your call?" Claire paused, since when did an operator ask you that?

"What?" was all she could manage as the girl reappeared, a small first aid kit in hand as she hurried back down the road, with what looked like her entire family in tow.

"If it is regarding the whereabouts of Claire Petrelli, there is a specific hotline, we can no longer direct calls of that nature directly to Mr Petrelli's offices."

"Erm, I..." Claire blanched, turning her head around to stare back up the hill, where Sylar would soon be emerging. "I'm Claire. Put me through to the hotline, whatever, just hurry!"

The operator went quiet for a moment, she got the impression he probably heard that line a lot. There was a click and the phone line reconnected, ringing out. "Welcome to the Claire search hotline, please state the nature of your information." The young girl pushed the syringe into her empty hand and tore open the needle. The whole village, which wasn't many, but enough to create a small crowd was watching her with eager anticipation, silent.

"This is Claire. I don't have much time, I need to speak to my father now."

The hotline operator went quiet. "Miss I will need proof of this, we get a hundred calls a day from people claiming to be Claire Petrelli."

"Bennett." Claire snapped. "My name is Claire Bennett." The operator didn't respond. "The man that kidnapped me is called Sylar, and any minute now he's going to wake up, and he's going to find me, and tear this phone out of my hands. I'm in Capri the island off the coast of Italy, in a village towards the north west side of the island. Either put me on to him or pass the message along fast!"

Without so much as flinching Claire plunged the needle into her heart, the vein would never do, not anymore, even if she wanted to she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop the blood vessels collapsing on command. There was a collective gasp from the crowd, the elderly woman, and two younger men, looking barley mid-thirties surged forward, taking hold of her, as if she was about to collapse. She batted them away. "Now! Please!" she hurled back down the phone. There were a series of clicks and she was placed on hold, music chimed down the phone at her.

Glancing down she willed her blood to flow faster, willed her heart to pound, but unlike the metal tube, the needle seemed to cause such little disturbance to her heart that the blood flowed into the needle as she tugged at the plunger. Granted it wasn't the best way to get the blood out, but it would have to do. Half full would have to do, the girl wasn't half dead, her skin was intact, could her blood even cure cancer? She had no idea, but it seemed she was willing to take the chance, holding her arm out to Claire. Cradling the phone against shoulder and ear, Claire grasped the girls arm and shoved the needle in, as delicately as someone that can no longer feel pain can...the blood disappeared into the young girl. She blinked and looked up hopefully.

"Has it worked? Am I cured?" Her eyes were so wide and hopeful that for a moment Claire felt like a monster for forcing her body to ever stop producing their miracle cure. But only for a moment.

"It's never failed." Claire sighed, refocusing on the music still coming from the phone.

The girl grasped her in a hug so tight, that could it have hurt Claire was certain it would have. She was sobbing, crying against her shirt, until someone from the bunch she assumed were her family pulled her away. The music stopped and there was a click.

"This is Nathan Petrelli. Do you have information about my daughter?" Claire was struck dumb, she had him, now on the phone, and she struggled for words. She hurried away from the ears of the crowd, just trying to put one foot in front of the other.

"Yes." She hissed down the phone, unable to keep the venom from even that one word.

"Claire?" hesitant, he asked the question she had planned for.

"It was Sylar." She couldn't bear to speak to him, every civil word she managed was like a knife through her. "He took me, I can't... anything is better than him. Please, help me." Even to her own ears the plea sounded genuine enough, her hatred for him still evident, but her fear and repulsion for Sylar winning out.

"When the operator said..." he paused, "I can hardly believe you're calling Claire."

"I am, and I need you to get here, now. I don't have time for this, if he wakes up he'll know I've called, I'll never get this chance again!"

"Claire, you're in Italy. I can't get to you that fast you know that."

"Yes _you_ can." She stressed the 'you'.

"And walk into a trap, I don't think so Claire." He sighed, that weary sigh politicians managed so well when talking about causes. "I thought you'd be different, that you'd start to understand when you were outside, when you could see how people have embraced you, and your gift."

"I don't give a damn about you or your cause." She spat, trying to keep her words between the two of them, hard with a village eavesdropping. "All I care about is getting away from Sylar. They gave me to him, they told him to keep me safe, to kill anything that is a threat. They left me with a monster." Her voice broke just at the right moment and added weight to her acting, masking the cold rage that made her want to simply hiss all the ways she intended to hurt him down the phone.

"If he finds me, he'll never let his guard drop again, I'll never escape him." She bit down hard on her lip, wishing she could feel the pain, as she tasted the feint metallic tinge of blood. "If you want my blood, however limited the supply, you'll get here now!"

"Too late."

Slowly, her hands clutching the phone tightly, she turned, Sylar stood between her and the crowd, electricity crackling from his hands, forcing them to back away. But it was the look in his eyes that seemed to have them dashing back into their homes. Only one returned, a crusty, prune looking old man, with almost no teeth left, he emerged with a shotgun from his home and levelled it at Sylar. Without hesitation, or even a warning he fired. The shot hit Sylar squarely in the chest, turning his shirt into a bloody mess in seconds. Sylar fell forward, hitting the dirt soundly. The phone was blaring; she could hear Nathan yelling down it, whether at her or at his flunkies she had no idea.

Claire looked up at the old man who was grinning madly at her, "Run." She told him, just as Sylar's arm twitched and he began to pull himself back up. "Run!" Claire screamed at the old man, warring emotions inside of her. Nathan would hear all of this, he would believe her story, the princess stolen away by the monster. The old man was clearly sharper than he looked, by the time Sylar had climbed back to his feet, he had vanished into the woodwork, along with the rest of the village. But from every window she could see heads, eyes peeping out behind wooden slats.

Sylar spun, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the village, before turning back to her, she didn't back up, didn't try to run. What would be the point? He snatched the phone from her loose hand and bought it to his mouth.

"Hello Nathan." He sneered, "Or should I call you Mr President, I hear it's almost a done deal." He grasped her arm tightly with his free one and fixed his raging eyes on her. "I have something I think you want."

"Let go." Claire hissed, trying to pull her arm free, instead Sylar swung her into his chest, wrapping his arm around her, as he pulled her arm tight across her chest, holding her fast.

"Sweet Claire." He continued, taunting Nathan, she would have pointed out that Nathan would hardly care, but that would have involved dragging herself into the conversation, and with her plans collapse she hardly felt like doing anything. "I have been keeping her company." Sylar continued.

She heard Nathan roar down the phone... perhaps he had a crowd, or maybe it was being recorded? Sylar gripped her by the hair and shoved her head closer to the phone. "Claire's mine. I will never give her up, never give her back. I'll kill, maim, and destroy anything you send. The whole world can watch as I tear your pathetic team to pieces and drag her off into the sunset!" Sylar tugged her hair, pulling her face into line of sight of his, she felt his mind brush hers, a compulsion formed and her mouth opened.

"Let go of me you sick bastard!" Claire screeched at the top of her lungs as Sylar wrapped a hand around her throat, lifting her off her feet, and effectively forcing her to choke on any more words he put into her mouth.

Sylar brushed the phone against her cheek, almost tenderly, but his eyes were raging. She was going to pay for this. He laughed and returned to the phone. "Too slow Nathan. You'll never find her now." Air rushed against her and it took her a moment to realise they were running across land, then sea, Sylar's grip so tight she was sure her arm had broken and healed a number of times already.

Back in the village, the mobile was probably lying there with Nathan yelling out of it, surrounded by a group of terrified Italians. But Sylar had confused her, as he gripped her tighter, she considered what he had done, if anything he had only helped her cause. Nathan would have his monster with abilities to hunt down, the public had seen their angel, had seen her cure a disease. Nathan would come for her, people would be re-inspired to find her, and she would stand there embrace him, and then calmly put a bullet through his brain in front of the whole world.


	9. Lies and Videotape

**Title: FUGITIVES - by Devilishlysas83**

**Disclaimer/Claimer: **I don't own Heroes, Sylar, Claire or any of the other characters. I just borrow them to feed my muse from time to time.  
**Rating: **PG-13 to NC-17, for some sexuality and dark themes  
**Fandom: **Heroes  
**Pairing: **Sylar/Claire  
**Spoilers: **AU to Fugitives Season, written in the hiatus after Villains ended. General spoilers for Season 3  
**Word count: **~40,000  
**Author's Note:** Originally written as two fics, the start was Captives, the follow up Fugitives, all posted together in separate chapters.

**Chapter 9: Lies and Videotape**

Sylar came to a shuddering halt, and she was thrown heavily, her back connecting with whatever metal object he'd aimed her at. A sickening crack informed her that she'd broken something, before it healed and she looked over at him, getting hesitantly up. Sylar was pacing his hands in his hair, almost feverishly, he looked half mad.

"There's nothing half about it!" he snapped, staring her down from his position. "You drive me insane!" he roared at her, "and coming from a sociopath that is no small thing!"

Claire stood, tall and proud, daring him to attack her, to hit her, to kiss her, to do something.

"You never listen, always the spoilt little brat, who thinks the world revolves around her. You're no different to the rest of the cheerleaders. An idiotic airhead!" That stung, more than she wanted to admit.

"I told you I couldn't sit there, I warned you. You wouldn't listen. I want to live my life, to go out, to talk to people, to not spend every moment with only a killer for company. This isn't life; this isn't what I let myself be dragged back for. I want them to pay. That's it!" Claire bellowed at him, happy to notice that her voice rebounded around the small, dark metal room they were in.

Sylar had her by the throat again, raising her off the floor so that they were eye to eye, as she spluttered for air. "I don't know why I even care." He snarled. "I thought it was just taking something else from you, from Peter and Bennett. Punishing them. That this infatuation would pass once I'd tasted you, that it could never live up to the hype!" he practically shook her, forcing her back firmly against the metal walls.

"I hate you, I have always hated you, hated what you have, that you had it, hated your father, hated that you looked up to him, hated that I could never take what I wanted from you." Claire felt the edge of her eyes beginning to darken, he was choking her to death, it was a new one for her and she was almost fascinated by the idea. "But it's not just hate; hate wouldn't make me feel this way. Wouldn't make me throw everything away, risk my life for you!" he shook her again, loosening his hold ever so slightly and preventing her from slipping into unconsciousness.

Claire decided it was better not to speak, or to think. If there was one person in the entire world that could kill her and make it permanent it was probably Sylar. His eyes widened as her mind refused to go blank and he clearly heard her thought. He dropped her back to the floor releasing her throat and gripping her upper arms instead.

"I killed the only two people that ever loved me." His sudden admission sent her mind reeling. _Was he threatening her? Who had ever loved him?_ "My adopted mother." He continued, not taking those dark orbs off her face, "she was terrified of me, tried to kill me herself, thought I was a monster." He shrugged, "She was right." _And the other? _Claire thought silently, not in the least bit surprised that he could have killed his own mother, but the sadness in his voice, made her think that maybe it was the one death he regretted. "Elle." He added quietly. Claire took a moment to digest that, she'd forgotten Elle was dead, granted she'd never seen her, but she'd just assumed she'd been one of the lucky ones that had disappeared, now the conversation with Sylar at Primatech over the intercom reformed.

"Why?"

Sylar loosened his grip on her arms, letting them stroke down until he reached her hands, grasping them with his own he pulled them up to his chest, just holding them there over his heart. "Because despite her acceptance, her words, everything she might have felt." He leaned forward until their noses almost brushed, in the darkness of the small room, that she still had no clue where they were, all she could see was his face.

"She made me a monster, she took that rope from around my neck, brought me my second victim, dangled the abilities in front of me, she was your father's puppet and I was hers. I could never forgive that. Poor sad little Elle, she thought she'd found someone like her, someone that would love her, thought she could change me."

"Instead you killed her." Claire whispered, slightly horrified, Elle hadn't been one of her favourite people, but she had been a cautionary tale, the person Claire might have been had the company taken her instead of her father. "Are you going to kill me too?" Once the idea would have terrified her, now she met it with weary resignation.

He stepped closer into her, and smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand. "I want to." He admitted, "I want to watch the life leave you, to not hear your thoughts, finally quiet." He grinned darkly and her stomach clenched unpleasantly. "It's appealing."

"So why don't you?" she pressed, her voice still breathy and quiet, she didn't feel comfortable speaking louder.

He released one hand and cradled her face with it instead. "I'd miss you." There it was three simple words and they may as well have been the other 3 little words, he'd never say them, their relationship wouldn't accommodate those words, not after all they'd been through, done to each other.

"You helped me back there, what happened to waiting it out?" Claire pressed, choosing to brush over his declaration, for her own sake.

"You'd do it anyway," he admitted, his hand stroking down through her hair, "And I'd lose you." He slid his hand down to her lower back, pressing her against him. "I won't lose you." He breathed and his mouth took hers, gently, insistently, those three words evident in each stroke of his tongue against hers.

Claire pulled back. "I thought you weren't going to touch me again?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him, "that I would have to beg." She pressed her lips to his, cutting off his answer, he had refused to abandon her, refused to let her abandon him, it was more than the other's had done for her, more than anyone had ever done for her. "I'd miss you too... I think." She whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple, before he captured her lips again, for one last lingering kiss, before they fell apart. There was one thing they always knew Claire mused, one thing that seemed enough, they wouldn't try to change the other, because they both knew with startling clarity, that people couldn't change back, not once the cold had gripped your heart. No way to shake loose the monster once it had dug it's claws in. He took her hand and tugged her gently, pulling her out of what she realised now was a cargo container, the light was so bright she had to blink for a few seconds until her vision returned.

"I may have something that will help us." Sylar added quietly, his face thoughtful. "An ability I haven't used in some time, I lost it when the company first took my abilities, but they've been re-emerging slowly." Claire looked up at him expectantly, the conversation he'd had with her in her house, right before he'd taken the top of her head of sprung to mind vividly, how he'd lost everything that made him _'special'_. Perhaps it should have worried her that he was regaining lost abilities from his first killing spree; he was already extremely powerful, did she really want him more so?

"Be glad they are." He added a little snippily. "After all, we're at war, and killing my allies now would be in bad taste." Claire studied his face.

"Are you serious? You aren't going to hunt down and kill people for abilities?"

"At least not until this war ends." He replied swiftly, without a trace of regret for the allies he'd already cost them. "Besides, the hunger has dimmed, I think I am almost done; apparently there is a limit to how many abilities I need to be _'special'._"

"Glad to hear it." Claire muttered turning away and staring out across the shipping yard, she had no clue where they were or even what country.

"Your home, well close, this is Miami. So you're back in America." Sylar supplied.

"Is that a good idea?" Granted she wanted to take the fight to Nathan, she just wasn't sure she wanted to be caught before she'd at least fired once.

Sylar shrugged. "This is your plan Claire, I've already told you what I would do. But if you want to draw Nathan out you have to be where he is."

That made sense, "So what's this ability?" She turned to look back up at him, examining his dark features as he glanced down his long nose at her.

"Blending."

Claire frowned. "Blending?" the idea struck a chord, but she had no idea the extent of the power. Before she'd had the chance to ask however Sylar had stalked back to the metal container, he looked back at her that grin in place, then he vanished. Claire stood their knowing she must have looked like she'd been hit over the head with something heavy, but unable to close her mouth. She narrowed her eyes, focusing on where he had been and approached the container, her arms outstretched, searching for him, he wasn't there. Turning her head left and right she scanned the container, a shadow caught her eye, it seemed to slide past the metal, lunging she almost smacked straight into the container, finding nothing but air. Hands grasped her heavily around the waist and slammed her back against his hard angles.

"Miss me?" he breathed against her ear.

Claire spun around and stared up at him. "I don't understand you were invisible, I thought this was blending?"

He smirked and stepped out into the middle of the concrete square, and he vanished again. Only not nearly as effectively, the sunlight streamed through him, and she studied him intently, she could make out his shape his outline, even though he was almost the exact same colour as the floor.

"So it only works if you're standing with something behind you that you can blend into." She concluded. He reappeared fully and nodded.

"I do have another ability, slightly more subtle that may come in handy, but it's a mental ability, forces people to look away, makes you overlooked, but it's only effective about half the time, and hardly when someone's alert. Pity Peter lost invisibility in his little reset."

Claire frowned, shielding her eyes from the sun as she attempted to see his face, the question as to whether he'd have killed Peter to get it, or tried his empathy was unknown, and to be honest, she wasn't sure she wanted to know anymore.

"So what's the next move then?" He watched her shrewdly, and she could see the amusement in his eyes, he clearly liked having her look to him for answers.

"I'd suggest we go into town, find a motel, wait a few hours, then find out what the worlds made of your little appearance in Italy. Nathan will no doubt make some sort of comment, a press conference at the very least." Claire agreed, it wasn't quite the fireworks she'd hoped for but at least they were finally moving in a direction that would lead where she wanted. "First things first though." Sylar added, before disappearing in a blast of air, Claire only had a few seconds to consider that he had left her before he reappeared and jammed a baseball cap on her head. "Tuck your hair inside. I'd suggest dying it," he added taking a golden strand in his fingers, "But I like it this way." He dropped her hair, and shoved his own baseball cap on.

"That's our disguise, baseball caps?" Claire asked in disbelief. Sylar shrugged in response.

"Better than nothing! Try to keep your eyes down, you have a face people tend to want to look at." It was a backhanded compliment, and Claire considered it for a fraction of a second before she was whisked away at phenomenal speed.

The motel he chose was a little dive not far from the sea front, in a busy part of the city, he had reasoned that the more people there were about, the easier it would be to hide a couple of strangers. Getting a room had been easier than she'd hoped, Sylar had instructed her to keep outside, her back to the glass window, her tell tale blonde locks hidden away behind the baseball cap and short leather jacket he'd grabbed on the way through.

The hotel clerk had barely glanced their way; Claire wondered whether he'd used that other ability to make them uninteresting. Either way it got them a room, nothing fancy, a double bed, table, chair, a shower that looked like it had never been introduced to bleach. Examining the bathroom and a cursory glance at the bed reminded her why she should be grateful she couldn't catch anything.

Sylar threw the paper in her direction, she caught it, and glanced down at the paper, nothing... at least not yet, but then despite the huge distance they had travelled it had barely been two hours since the phone call to Nathan. Instead there was an entirely different story on the front page that made her heart sink, _'Man Causes Earthquake in Georgia, 1000's Dead!' _ Did Georgia even have a fault line she wondered as she stared at the front page. There was no reason to wonder why Nathan's campaign of fear was striking a chord. People like them were dangerous, powerful, and normal human beings really were powerless against them, how could you fight when individuals had the power to take 1000's of lives in seconds. No one had faith in human nature anymore, knowing that human beings abused power, whether they were evolved or not.

Sylar turned the TV on, distracting her from her dark thoughts and the rest of the horrors 'her' people had caused. He flicked through a few channels, before inevitably they found CNN, the news casters were exclaiming about having new information about the whereabouts and state of Claire Petrelli. She hated that they kept attaching his surname to her, seeming to ignore the fact that she was his illegitimate daughter and had her own last name.

"Actually, Nathan had the paper work drawn up, he officially became your legal guardian, and had your last name changed." Sylar informed her, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"I'm almost 21." Claire reminded him, "I don't need a legal guardian."

"He altered the previous records, making it look like he'd done it when he first realised about you when you were 16." Sylar spared her a glance, "We're fairly certain he used Micah to do it. But the kid does good work, he couldn't undo it afterwards, they'd taken it off the servers, all hard copied. Legally you're his, right down to the family name."

"And you're telling me this now?" Claire asked, trying not to scream at him and bring the neighbours running, having to settle for digging her nails so far into her palms that they bled, at least until they healed.

Sylar threw a sweet he'd swiped from the front desk into his mouth and sucked on it deliberately. "Never came up."

She took a few calming breaths, as she eased herself onto the side of the bed, being as Sylar had the only chair.

"Press conference is in an hour. Hungry?" he offered, after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.

"Fine." She replied sharply, the news that Nathan was officially her father wouldn't stop squirming inside of her. He could alter every piece of paper in the world and it wouldn't change the fact that she would never look at him in any paternal light again. Sylar left her to her thoughts, vanishing with a blast of air. He took a little longer than she was used to, a whole 15minutes passed before he zipped back into the room, by that point she was anxiously staring out the window her arms wrapped around her middle. The genuine relief she felt as he plopped a paper bag on the bed behind her, the smell of fajitas filling the room, was almost a shock.

"Sorry, had to wait for a new batch to be made before I could swipe them." He apologised, throwing himself back into the chair and pulling a fajita loose of its wrapping. "Thought you'd like Mexican again, seeing as how much you enjoyed the last one. Some Tacos in there somewhere too." He added, before stuffing half a fajita into his mouth with far too much enthusiasm. Claire hesitated only a second, still fighting to control the stupid nerves his extended absence had caused. It didn't take the two of them long to devour the food in silence, by then the press conference was about to start. "Should have bought some popcorn." Sylar mused as he adjusted his position, getting comfortable.

"Are you actually enjoying this?"

"Hey I'm about to officially become America's most wanted. Maybe the worlds! I'd like to savour that." Sylar leaned forward eagerly as the news caster appeared on screen, the words _'Claire Update' _flashing across the screen, with the dramatic theme music and her picture.

"There has been a dramatic new development in the search for Claire Petrelli." She announced pausing for effect, whilst her co-anchor looked on grimly. "We have some footage coming to us now, taken on a mobile phone by a local resident of Capri, off the coast of Italy, where it appears Claire has been held by none other than notorious serial killer, Sylar."

The video came on screen, the little video camera in the phone shaking, and with an image clearly taken from someone from behind a building. But it was enough, it started as she was asking desperately for a phone, the fear of being caught by Sylar and having her plans ruined had translated well into terror at being found by her kidnapper on the screen. The little camera had zoomed in on the needle and syringe the girl had gone to get, as she shoved it into her heart, withdrawing the vital fluid. Even as she sniped at the operator, about connecting her to Nathan. It panned to the young girl as the blood was injected into her arm, before watching from a distance as she was finally connected to Nathan, and ran out of ear shot. The silent video continued to film, until Sylar's arrival in a blast of air. The Italian swearing of the guy holding the camera had been bleeped out, but he held his camera firm on Sylar's dark form, he looked like the monster they wanted him to be, dark, deadly, and as she stared oddly appealing, that dark shirt only enhancing his profile. Claire caught his smirk from the corner of her eye as he continued to treat the inside of her head like an all you could read buffet.

The electricity cackling around his hands was the primary focus of the camera, until he remembered she was there, the camera swung back to her somewhat stunned face, she looked just like daddy's little princess, her jeans ripped and bloody, dirt from her fall evident, her hair windblown, but her face fierce, perfect as always... Nathan would be so pleased. The camera swung following her line of sight, to the old man with his shotgun as he blew a hole through Sylar's chest. Her desperate screams for the old man to run were followed by the camera's shaking movements as the young cameraman focused on Sylar's hands twitching as he pulled himself back up to his full intimidating height. Scanning the crowd, his eyes focused directly on the young cameraman and he ducked away, momentarily loosing the video as his swearing was again bleeped out. He returned in time to see Sylar take the phone from her.

The little phone picked up the audio well enough that Claire was sure that the sales for this particular brand would triple after this. Sylar's voice was clear, and cold as he taunted Nathan, taking hold of her firmly, she was impressed at the revulsion on her face, which was a mixture felt for both her father and Sylar at that point in time. Sylar swung her roughly into his chest, holding her tight and the cameraman seemed to go still... perhaps expecting Sylar to kill her then and there? Her pleas to be released fell on deaf ears, as Sylar continued to taunt Nathan with her. Then came Sylar's threat and the young cameraman hurled an obscenity that was not bleeped, perhaps left in for effect.

The words he'd forced into her mouth tore loose with utter conviction, much to the approval it seemed of the cameraman. His response was swift, his hand wrapping around her throat and lifting her clean off the ground. The cameraman was not alone it seemed, his camera shifted to the right as his friend, a young man barely out of his teens seemed to jump to his feet, as if to rush out and confront Sylar. The cameraman grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him down, hushing him furiously, returning the camera just in time to see Sylar stroke it down her cheek, the look on his face leaving no doubt as to just how close the two of them had gotten, in her old life she would have blushed. One last taunt for Nathan and they vanished, a blur fading into the distance, far beyond the camera's reach.

The news room and the anchors grim faces returned, a few moments of silence, before the female anchor spoke again. "Shocking footage. I think you'll all agree. The bravery of the young cameraman to stand there and film this can also not go overlooked." The camera switched to the male anchor.

"Truly disturbing." He added shaking his head. "Sylar as some of you may remember, was responsible for a series of brutal murders all across the country four years ago. Typified by the removal of the victims brain. No apparent connection, no motive, until now. We now know, from a source within the FBI and from Senator Petrelli's office that Sylar's targets all had abilities, and that it was these abilities that cost them their lives at the hands of this monster. We have learned that Sylar not only killed them, violently, but was also able to take their ability himself. He is perhaps the most dangerous man on this planet, we urge you not to approach him if you see him in the street. Call the authorities."

The camera shifted to the female anchor woman, as she raised her hand to her ear. "I've just heard, yes it's coming through now that Nathan Petrelli is ready to give his address to the nation. We're going to go live to the Presidential candidate Nathan Petrelli now, from New York."

The image switched to the press conference, to Nathan standing behind the podium, he looked worn, but determined, Claire wondered if the bags under his eyes were real or makeup?

"Thank you." He began, his voice showing all the strain of a man who's daughter had been taken hostage by a violent serial killer with god like abilities. "I am here today because we now have a face behind the terrible act of terrorism almost five months ago, that claimed the lives of 26 marines, the night Claire was taken." He paused for effect, masterful as ever in his delivery, once again she felt the urge to clap him, if she hadn't been so angry. "Sylar is dangerous, he is the very kind of person we all feared having abilities, and he represents a clear and present danger not only to this country but to every human being, with or without abilities. As such, in a united effort, to catch this monster, I have invited my brother here today."

Claire shot up off the bed so fast that she nearly crashed into the TV. Sylar had gone still, gripping the arms of his chair his eyes fixed on the screen as Peter flew into the room to land beside Nathan, who stepped aside giving him the microphone.

"What is he doing?" Claire managed, her lungs so tight she could barely breathe.

Sylar remained silent simply watching.

"My name is Peter Petrelli." Claire sat back down heavily, watching in morbid curiosity, this couldn't be good. "And I have abilities. Many people would consider me a terrorist. Because I have fought for the freedom of people like me. I have fought my brother, and this country for the right to exist." He paused and there was no noise from the audience. "We are entering into dangerous grounds, the world is splitting, between those with abilities and those without. We are divided, in way never before, a way that goes beyond religion, race, colour, it's about the fundamental rights of humanity." He stopped and looked at his brother. "I am not like my brother, I did not have faith in humanity to make the right choices, to control themselves, with or without abilities."

He turned back to the flashing camera bulbs, his face full of grim determination. "But I have seen the public's response to Claire, to my niece, an extraordinary young woman, with an amazing gift. People have embraced her, taken her into their hearts despite, or in some cases because of her ability. You have given me hope, she has given me hope, that a peaceful resolution to this situation can emerge from all the destruction. Humanity is changing, we are changing, and we must work together to stop those that would keep us apart. To stop those that would force us to live in fear." He leaned forward into the microphone. "People like Sylar... people who would use these abilities against humanity, instead of for them." He stood tall, his youthful, handsome good looks only marred by the scar that had not been there before, the scar that ran diagonally across the middle of his face, crossing his nose.

"I stand here before you today, beside my brother, to ask those of you like me, to help us to change the world. We must work together, to stop those that seek to keep us divided, to make this a war; that will only cost countless lives on both sides." Nathan stepped up beside him and placed a strong hand on his shoulder, the two sharing an indecipherable look. "Help us to find Sylar, help us find Claire, and maybe then we can start to rebuild the trust between us all." There was a burst of noise as a hundred reporters clamoured for more information. "Thank you." Peter nodded grimly, before simply popping out of existence, causing the reporters to roar louder.

Nathan took to the podium again, angling the microphone towards him. "Peter has said it all. And as of today, the treatment of people with abilities, will change. Only those that represent a clear and present danger to humanity, whether they have abilities or not, will be taken into custody, and their abilities suppressed, they will be trialled by their peers both with and without abilities, like any other criminal, judged on their actions, not by what they can do. The President and I are committed to seeing this through." He took a deep breath.

"This is a day of change, and I hope a day that will go down in history as the day the war on abilities ended. We will get through this, as a nation, as a people." He looked directly at the cameras, those dark eyes flashing. "There have been atrocities committed on both sides, loss of life that can never be forgotten. But for the sake of us all, we must all move past it, and look to the future of _our_ world." His lips narrowed into a determined thin line. "Thank you." He didn't wait for questions, simply left the podium to the shouts of the reporters desperate for a sound-bite more. The news anchors returned, but Claire wasn't listening, her whole body seemed to have gone numb. Sylar flicked off the TV with a wave of his hand.

Claire turned to look at him, her hands were shaking. "They betrayed us!" she managed to spit out, unable to believe what Peter had done, what they had all done, because there was no way Peter would have acted alone.

"It makes sense though." Sylar added thoughtfully. "After all, this is what Peter and the others want, peace, for the rights of those with abilities to be restored. By focusing the attention on a real villain... me, they humanise themselves. It's brilliant really."

Claire just stared dumbfounded. "I don't care about peace." She spat, causing his head to whip around and look at her sharply, appraisingly. "I want to make them pay for what they did to me! I don't care what they offer; what they promise, it doesn't just undo it all."

"Most people won't feel that way Claire; they're tired and just want to have normal lives again, to go back to how it was, to let it go like a bad dream."

"Then they're fools." She spat, her anger rising like a tide; that fuelled her deadened senses.

"They're just weak." Sylar added calmly. "Not so long ago, you would have felt the same, would have been happy to end a war."

"That Claire's dead." She spat.

Sylar nodded and stood up, crossing to stand over her. Claire felt like her world had ended again, the hollow feeling she had felt inside that cell seemed to swallow her again. She clutched Sylar, wrapping her arms tightly around him, as his hands came up gently around her to hold her there. "They're going to kill you." She told him softly, holding him tighter.

"They're going to try." He corrected.

"All of them, Peter, Nathan, my father, Parkman, they will use you to end this war." Claire felt tears well inside of her eyes, but they never fell, she wasn't sure she could even cry anymore.

"They'll take me back to Nathan, and force me to smile beside him, force me to donate blood out of the goodness of my heart with a smile to save the people that kept me in that cell." Sylar's hands were in her hair, soothing her in a way that only he could now. "I don't care if I die." She told him darkly, "so long as I take them with me. I don't care if this world dies, they don't deserve it!" He raised her head and kissed her hard.

"That's fine with one modification." He grinned, "They die; we don't." Claire simply stared at him, she was less convinced of that plan than hers, living was far too much like hard work, when you could barely feel it, and being sustained by hatred and blistering anger were poor consolation. "We'll work on it." He pressed a kiss against her forehead.


	10. Acceptance is Just a State of Mind

**Title: FUGITIVES - by Devilishlysas83**

**Disclaimer/Claimer: **I don't own Heroes, Sylar, Claire or any of the other characters. I just borrow them to feed my muse from time to time.  
**Rating: **PG-13 to NC-17, for some sexuality and dark themes  
**Fandom: **Heroes  
**Pairing: **Sylar/Claire  
**Spoilers: **AU to Fugitives Season, written in the hiatus after Villains ended. General spoilers for Season 3  
**Word count: **~40,000  
**Author's Note:** Originally written as two fics, the start was Captives, the follow up Fugitives, all posted together in separate chapters.

**Chapter 10: Acceptance is just a state of mind**

Sylar turned over, taking in the rare sight of Claire asleep. It was only a half forgotten habit to her now, one she had slipped into on the soft bed. From the thoughts he'd picked up from her mind as she had lay there he suspected it was more to do with slipping into unconsciousness and forgetting for even a short while about her life. He reached out, gently brushing the back of his hand across her cheek and then down to her collarbone. Only her tank top and underwear kept her skin from him, he brushed a strap aside and ran his finger over the exposed skin, before burying his head in her hair.

She always smelt the same to him, with or without perfume, something primal, nothing sickly sweet, or lingering, just a hint of it that made you instantly want it again, just like Claire herself. Tumbleweeds maybe, aromatic, dark, woody and floral all at once, it was the scent of immortality he decided; wondering if he too had an earthy scent that clung to him, like the Earth they could never leave. She of course wouldn't make it that long, she didn't have the heart for eternity, she'd barely made it back the last time.

He slid a hand down to her flat stomach, pushing under the material so he could feel her skin. He didn't really deserve her, he knew that, had he not taken her broken shell from that cell he never could have had the chance. No one deserved her, not really, certainly not that idiot Uncle of hers. Perhaps they thought that she was still the Claire they knew, the one that wanted to be the hero, to help people... only that Claire had never really existed. He'd seen a long time ago now, just how damaging their encounter had been on her young mind, saw 'bio mom' drag the truth from her with blistering ferocity, Claire had only ever wanted to hurt the people that hurt her. Either way they were banking on a Claire that didn't exist, expecting her to accept that this was the best way to fix the world. He sighed stilling his hands. Idiots.

He'd call them, but what could he possibly say to convince them that he knew Claire better than any of them? Peter would be too full of self righteous indignance, that a serial killer that had terrorised her might know more about his own niece than him. Noah, Noah wouldn't even let him speak. His mind had tried to rip him to shreds that day in the bunker, Sylar had barely heard the words, only what his mind had wanted to convey, and he had not been happy to have his 'Claire-bear' clinging to him like that. The others were unimportant; they had neither the power nor the motivation to stand against him for Claire's sake.

But it left him with a problem; Claire's survival depended on her accepting their plan, on returning to the fold and playing nice with the people that had broken her. It was strange; he wasn't used to considering someone else's survival, only his own had ever mattered. But his knack for seeing through the mess to the heart of an issue was not comforting him now; he could see no way to resolve this, not for her. At least not as she was now.

There was an option, he considered it fleetingly, but ultimately he was too selfish for that, and despite his own better judgement he actually cared about her, he liked her this way. Dismissing it he focused on other options.

He supposed he could give himself up, agree to come quietly, to stay in their little cell until they were long dead, and he was forgotten. Fake his death for the media, wouldn't be too hard, he could even force his body to slow the healing process if he needed, make it look real. In exchange they leave Claire to live her life, no more transfusions; no more cells. But she wouldn't go for that, vengeance was all she could see, and even he had to admit, she probably wouldn't like the idea of him being locked away forever. The thought sent an odd shiver through him, drawing a smile. Finally, after everything, he had found someone that cared about him, could he really sit in a cell and let her get on with her life without him? There was that fable, '_if you love something, let it go, if it comes back to you it's yours to keep.' _ He smirked, he'd done that, in that bunker he'd let her go, she hadn't left. He wouldn't; couldn't do that again; she was his and it stirred something even darker in him than the hunger... his.

Perhaps they should both die? The idea bounced around his skull, the idea had its appeal, he would never have to lose her, and he'd die knowing that neither Peter nor Noah had been able to stop it, that he'd won. He weighed the pros against the obvious cons... not being alive, she shifted and his hand shifted higher with her, a tingle swept down his fingers and across his hands. Dead he'd never touch her again, never see into that gloriously deviant mind, the former cheerleader, cheering for the death of a world that had broken her. He would never be able to replace her; she was unique, like him.

He rolled onto his side, easing her chin gently, so as not to wake her, until her face was next to his. He'd miss seeing her face he decided. That deceptive face, she looked like sunshine, like the angel the world so wanted her to be, men had always stopped and stared at that face, had wanted her for it. Children were comforted by it, her smile; warm enough to light up a room. But it was a mask, a perfect facsimile... if the devil had a face, he would have worn Claire's; sometimes Sylar wondered if he already did. He brushed a finger over her lips, perfectly smooth, he couldn't kill this, he'd never wanted too.

The options were limited. His original idea stirred again. Peter had the Hatian's power, the Hatian still had his power if he could be found. He could take Claire to either of them; have them erase her mind, everything Nathan had done to her. Everything he had done to her. Give her a second chance; let her be the sweet innocent 16 year old indestructible cheerleader again. But he wouldn't have her then... he would still end up in a cell, or in hiding. Could he wait that long, knowing eventually it would be just them... trust that time would give him the chance again to make her his?

He pressed his lips to the skin on her shoulder, trailing kisses until he reached her neck and slid over her sleeping form. His hand slid upwards further beneath her top, and brushed a breast, caressing it gently, as his lips reached their destination and captured hers. He felt the moment she woke up, there was no grogginess; no gentle slide from conscious to unconscious that everyone else got, she was simply awake again.

He felt her surprise to find him over her, his hands already at work on her body, his fully aroused length pressing against the thin material of her underwear. He waited for the protest, for the internal rebuke, there was none, nothing. Her hands slid up his chest, and pulled at his vest until she had worked it free. The appreciation in her mind as she stroked him was always a surprise; he'd never expected her to want him, not like this, to need him perhaps, to need to feel, but to want? Her hands tugged at his slightly longer hair, those strong fingers sending sensations through his scalp that were almost enough to take the strength from his legs. His hands tore at her tank top and the material gave beneath them to reveal her breasts, the nipples already waiting for his touch, hard and long.

It didn't matter how many times they did this, how many times he touched her, how many times he pushed through her virginity; the feeling he got was the same as that first time. Utterly right, every sensation razor sharp, every touch electrifying, the sight of her small, firm, golden body beneath him, above him, it never ceased to amaze him.

Claire's small hand grasped him and he let out a sharp grunt, her sense of touch had faded so much during her time in that cell, sometimes he feared she would forget entirely that it was attached. But as her hand moved, and she pushed him over onto his back he tried to let thought fade, far too easy a concept with her driving him towards ecstasy. Lips went around him and his whole body bucked, and he drew in a breath so sharp he nearly choked on it. She had never offered him this, not once, and he had never asked. Her soft tongue worked steadily against him and he had to curl his hand around the bed spread, concentrating on not setting the sheets ablaze, or pulling her hair out as he fisted his hand in those long golden locks.

He glanced down, having to see her, his eyes widened; it was possibly the most erotic thing he'd ever seen, watching himself disappear into her mouth, a look of concentration on her face, as she attempted to break his control. Her hand grasped his balls, with more delicacy than she usually showed, and he was unable to stop the lightening that burst from his loose hand, blackening the sheets beneath. She looked up from beneath her eyelashes, not stopping her work; her thoughts were the only clue behind amused eyes as to her intent. _'Witch.' _He thought silently, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the pillow not bothering to stifle the moan she forced free with her tongue.

Her tempo and insistence increased, he gripped her hair tightly, feeling his toes curling, as his breathing became short bursts. He would have stopped her, but it wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to watch him come apart, wanted to watch him gasping and thrashing beneath her. He obliged, as her hand worked in tandem with her mouth, until he was tighter than he ever remembered being. He brushed the back of her throat, over and over, the contact sending sharp shocks through his now quivering length. He gave her no warning, holding her head firmly in place as his seed burst free, he felt her surprise, she'd never done that before, not that he could tell... like everything about her, it had been picture perfect. Thrusting upwards against her mouth he emptied himself into her, she swallowed it... good girl. He released her head falling back boneless against the mattress; he felt the coolness of the air around his still throbbing length as her mouth left.

Sylar opened one eye, staring at her, that smirk was in place; she was far too pleased with herself. But then he was far too pleased with her as well to call her on it. Her mind was just as smug. He supposed he should have offered to return the favour, but it was honestly too much effort, he felt utterly spent. Her skin slid across his torso, and he ignored it, if it was possible to ignore Claire... it wasn't it seemed, as his hands moved of their own accord, sliding up her back to hold her against him. He almost laughed at her naivety then, she had thought that offering him that, would somehow get her off the hook, let her go back to the blissful oblivion her rare sleep had offered.

"Poor girl." He murmured against her hair, flipping them both over, and holding her fast with his weight. The fire was back in her eyes, her skin flushed pink with desire. She hadn't counted on getting so aroused herself, now she needed him, wanted him... and she'd already taken all he could give for now. She glared up at him, choosing to show him the irritation instead of the desperation that warred inside of her. He considered asking her to beg, she'd only done so once, that night on the Italian hillside, and he wasn't convinced it had been begging, more like surrendering. He wanted her to beg.

"Please." She breathed her hands taking his head so she could kiss his jaw, down to that spot she'd found behind his ear that made him groan. "Please Gabriel." He stilled and threw her back into the mattress holding her down. Fury bubbled over inside of him. He had tried to be Gabriel for her, and she'd rejected him, she'd wanted Sylar. But she wouldn't beg Sylar!

"No." He spat, grabbing her wrists and wrenching them above her head to hold them in place with his power. "Ask me, not him. Gabriel isn't what you want, what you need." He slid his hands down her sides, taking her underwear with him, until he'd slid it off her legs. He stared hard at her, feeling that desperation bubbling to the surface again inside of her, surpassing the irritation. His length hardened again as if at her command, he was momentarily stunned, his body had its limits, and she had most definitely pushed him past them earlier, so he'd thought. He slid up her, letting her feel it, she arched against him, that desperation forcing her to tug at invisible bonds. "You always get what you want Claire. Always." He pressed a kiss to her fluttering stomach, sticking his tongue into her belly button and drawing a sharp hiss from her. She knew what he wanted, he could hear the gears turning in her mind, one thought sharp after another, dimmed only by desire and desperation. He looked up at her from his position at her stomach, waiting.

"Sylar." She gasped, the word breaking in her throat. "Please." Perhaps he should have savoured it, savoured the moment the little cheerleader from Odessa realised she wanted the serial killer, the monster from her nightmares. But the moment those last syllables had left her lips he was another animal, an animal she had created, and let loose. Without hesitation he slammed inside of her, relishing the moment as always, that he broke through the only resistance she would offer. Claire clutched at his shoulders, digging her slight nails into his skin hard enough to mark. With supreme effort he stilled, he felt her irritation, and mild amusement, thinking he was considering her non-existent discomfort... he wasn't. It wasn't enough, this new monster wanted more, it wanted to devour her, to make her scream for him, to take her into himself, to let her see just how she was his. He gripped her face, ignoring the sudden flutter of panic from her, mind reading had never been an ability she liked directed her way.

"What are you doing?" such a brave girl, she didn't really want to know, not really, but she had to ask, his lips brushed hers, it wasn't going to reassure her, there was nothing that could.

"I want you to see me!" He kissed her again, knowing it wasn't enough, the new monster inside of him would always want more of her. "All of me. Like I can see you." He brushed a thumb across her forehead. She was afraid, her head twitched, and he felt her body tense beneath him.

"I don't..." she swallowed the words, she did want, he knew that.

Sylar pushed, with his body and his mind, the combination was electric, her mind opened to him, just like always, locking his eyes on hers, he let go. She screamed, and he thrust into her, pushing further into her mind, letting her further into his. Hiding nothing. She saw his twisted desires for her, like clockwork each idea he'd had to protect her laid bare, kill her, keep her, erase her, ticking away like time bombs within him, as he continued to thrust into her writhing, grasping body. Every monstrous act, he let her reveal them all, the curtains that hid them cast aside by her trembling hands. She wasn't a monster yet, not like him, but she wasn't repulsed, not anymore. He showed her their moments together, there was no good and bad, not to him, every moment with her was one in the same... perfect.

He increased the momentum, of both his body and the images; she was quivering beneath him, her body heaving breaths against his shoulder as she clutched him. He grasped her within her mind, holding her too him, asking only one thing. _'Accept me.' _There was nowhere for her to run, to evade, not even from herself. He felt her answer; however much it sickened the little girl he knew now was still buried inside, under all that hate. But he felt it, heard it and thrust into her faster, embracing her mind and body... just like he was always supposed to.

"Always." She rasped against his ear, before the trembling over took her, and she threw her head back, her mouth open panting, gritting her teeth to hold it back as long as possible. He pushed, and felt her tighten around him, dissolving into a wonderful sobbing heap, clinging to him inside and out.

"Mine." He rasped, slipping out of her mind and body, and letting his head fall against hers, the softness of her hair against his cheek bringing him back to earth.

"Yes." She replied quietly, he looked up, surprised to find the tears falling down her cheeks. She brushed them away, looking equally surprised to find them there.

Sylar was content in that moment, Nathan and his goons, dragging Peter and Noah with him, could burst in right now, and he wouldn't have shifted an inch. This was enough, with Claire.


	11. Avenge and Revenge

**Title: FUGITIVES - by Devilishlysas83**

**Disclaimer/Claimer: **I don't own Heroes, Sylar, Claire or any of the other characters. I just borrow them to feed my muse from time to time.  
**Rating: **PG-13 to NC-17, for some sexuality and dark themes  
**Fandom: **Heroes  
**Pairing: **Sylar/Claire  
**Spoilers: **AU to Fugitives Season, written in the hiatus after Villains ended. General spoilers for Season 3  
**Word count: **~40,000  
**Author's Note:** Originally written as two fics, the start was Captives, the follow up Fugitives, all posted together in separate chapters.

**Chapter 11: Avenge and Revenge**

Sylar was sleeping, exhausted Claire supposed, gently she brushed her hand through his overlong thick black hair, and sat up. There had been too many surprises for one day, too many moments that shook her to her very core. But Sylar had beaten them all, he had offered her himself, complete, whole and uncensored; and she hadn't turned away. Inside his mind there had been a sort of calm, a purpose and conviction; a certainty as to how the world was supposed to be. She had become that for him.

Pulling her knees up to her chest she draped the covers around him and stared out at the peeling motel wall. He didn't know how to help her; because she didn't. The idea of a blank slate, a fresh start was almost appealing; but the idea that she would return to Nathan, her young fragile innocent self, it was sickening. She would trust the father that doted on her, would give him the blood he wanted to use to cure the world. No. Nathan would win; Peter and the others would win. _When had they become enemies? _

It didn't seem to matter as much as she'd thought it would, as it probably should have; she'd learnt in that cell that all she had was herself. Sylar let out a snore and she amended that... she had Sylar. It was comforting in a way that she didn't fully understand, and at other times it was the most natural thing in the world. They'd both been broken by their abilities, by what people wanted to learn from those abilities. The world hadn't wanted to see them as people, just freaks, curiosities, useful ones. Peter had never suffered like they had, never felt his humanity stripped away; none of them had; none of them had willingly closed their eyes and waited for death to take them.

Reaching over to the dresser Claire picked up the mobile phone and slid from the bed, pulling on her clothes quickly she tucked the gun into the back of her waistband. She scribbled the note into the pad on the dresser, and with a glance back at Sylar to check he was still sleeping soundly she slipped from the motel room. The courtyard was dark, only the flickering motel light attempted to offer illumination on a place that looked better without its feeble efforts. Claire stared at the phone in her hand and pushed the speed dial; the small screen lit up and the dial tone connected.

"Claire?" his voice rang through the air in the stillness and she swallowed the memory of him so long ago in the school; of him throwing himself from a building for her.

"I'm ready to come home."

He breathed in sharply; she could almost imagine the look on his face, the grin that twisted his lips. She began to walk, putting distance between herself and the room with Sylar sleeping peacefully inside.

"Just tell me where Claire. We can end all this." Peter's voice was infused with that mild desperation born of sudden action, tinged with a nasal quality that reminded her it was still the middle of the night and most normal people would be sleeping.

"I won't help you catch him."Claire informed him coolly, "But I will come back with you."

He didn't like that, she could hear it but wisely he chose not to say it. "Where?"

Claire glanced at the road that led away from the motel; she really had no idea where she was. "I'll call you when I know." She snapped shut the phone; no doubt Peter would already be springing into action in their little hideyhole, rousing the troops. Would he call Nathan? There was probably no need, surely Nathan was with them, planning, plotting, whatever deal Peter had brokered with them to get them to rally together for all the world to see would keep them all safe. She took a breath and deliberately pushed the thoughts away, if she thought too hard Sylar would wake up.

So she walked, heading out on to the side of the road, her baseball cap jammed onto her head, it wouldn't be of much use if someone stopped to offer her a ride, but it might just keep them from giving her a second glance as they drove past. It didn't take as long as she'd thought it might to reach a town, and no cars had driven past the isolated stretch of road. The smell of the ocean grew stronger and she sucked it in deeply, just enjoying the moment as she glanced up at the street sign. Pulling out the phone she hit redial, the phone had barely managed a single ring before Peter answered.

"Miami, the harbour, corner of 5th and Wesson." She snapped the phone closed and waited. The feint pop of air being disturbed alerted her to his arrival. Claire kept her mind blank, letting only the swell of misery she felt be the only thing he would read if he dared to look. He held out a hand to her and she took it, the air popped and they vanished, materialising in a warehouse. They were all there, her broken family, all accept Angela of course, Sylar had taken care of that. Both of her father's stood to the side watching intently as Peter stood beside her, and arm sliding around her waist; as if he could protect her.

"Thank you Peter." Claire told him quietly, raising her hand she stroked his cheek gently, Sylar had taught her many things, but most importantly he'd taught her that all abilities however great, had one fatal flaw... the person wielding them. An ability was only as quick as they were.

"I'm not sorry." She told him gently, his eyes widened in that split second he felt the gun at the back of his head. The gun went off and Claire closed her eyes against the spray feeling it slide down her face, the same bullet shooting through her cheek and out, the tissue reforming before the others had even had the chance to shout in surprise. Claire raised the gun and levelled it at Nathan who looked too surprised to even speak, his mouth opened and closed as he switched his gaze from his brothers dead form, and back to her and the gun levelled at his head.

"Claire... what have you done?" he choked out his agents swarmed and she cocked the gun, stopping them still. The man she had always considered her real father stood now beside Nathan, his own gun out raised at her.

"How did you think this was going to end?" Claire bit off, her voice was hollow even to her own ears.

"Claire honey, it doesn't have to be this way, don't you understand, Nathan has found a way for the world to accept you, and people like you." her father implored her, his eyes almost as dead as hers behind his glasses, he could see her finally.

"I don't care about that." She stepped forward and levelled the gun at Nathan's forehead. "You made me want to die." Again, nothing, her voice was flat, she wondered at it when all she could feel inside was rage. "Nothing in the world will undo what you did to me. It can't. But I can make the world suffer for it, I can make you suffer for it." Nathan's eyes narrowed, he wanted to call her selfish again, she could see the politician clawing out of his eyes, wanting to drip his silk words over this whole thing.

"Sylar loves me." She told them pointedly. Her father scoffed and Nathan just managed to look slightly appalled. "I am everything to him, his world." She felt the smirk lifting her features and saw realisation dawn in her father's eyes, reflected through his glasses.

"When he finds me here, dead at your feet..." she trailed off enjoying the look of panic that crossed Nathan's features. "Your precious world will burn." They lunged for her but it was too slow, the gun was already in her mouth. The blast went off and straight through the back of her head; her eyes stayed open as her back hit the concrete floor, the faces of the two men that should have protected her from the horrors of the world looming over her. Her body began to work its miracle, piecing her back together as only hers could, the wound couldn't kill her. But then it was never supposed to.

Closing her eyes she listened to the sound of the blood rushing through her ears, listened as it slowed, her extremities falling numb first. The medics swarmed her, a monitor was hooked up, all so familiar, and yet utterly different; she wasn't giving in; not this time, no this time she was getting her revenge.

Wind gathered all around her, and hands were torn away from her, monitors hurled away like the insignificant pieces of plastic they were, nothing could stop the failing of her heart... not even the man that had restarted it the first time. Sylar's hands cradled her face, his eyes blazing as his fear and his rage overwhelmed her.

"You're my hero." she told him softly, before it became too much to keep her eyes open. Perhaps it was a cruelty, that she would make Sylar something so much worse than even he could have ever conceived; that she would be the one to unleash him onto the world in all his terrible glory. But he always wanted her to be like him, to understand him, finally she did, understood the answer to at least one of his questions, '_love couldn't be made to stay, it had to be given, carried with you like a torch, burning within you until strength failed. Sylar's heart would never fail.' _

As the world faded into nothing, his lips against hers were the last thing she truly felt, the taste of his tears the only thing she would carry with her into the darkness. He screamed; his rage left a smile lingering on her lips as her heart beat its last tripping sound.

Sylar... her sweet revenge, her curse, her legacy.


End file.
